


Falling Never Hurts. But Landing Does.

by bofurlove



Series: Falling [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Self-Hatred, Verbal Abuse, like at the end, the very very end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:21:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofurlove/pseuds/bofurlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Greg struggle with the loss of their consulting detective. Both are hurting and grieving and dealing as best they can. But sometimes the best you give isn't enough.</p><p>*****</p><p>“John…” </p><p>Without warning John harshly kicked his bags down the stairs where they landed with a bang against the front door startling Greg badly, the silver haired man worried that he would be next to receive the physical brunt of John’s vicious anger.</p><p>“I said get out.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Face Down

Greg silently picked at his Chicken Pad Thai, sneaking small glances at John where he sat in his chair angrily staring at Sherlock’s chair (something he did regularly) with a glass of whiskey in his hand. The doctor’s curry was left untouched on the small antique table beside him. This was how things usually were when the DI came home to the younger man after his work at the Yard. It was to John with a whiskey and harsh words. John had lost a great deal of weight in the last months since Sherlock’s fall. Sherlock’s fall….it had been 6 months since the loss of the great consulting detective, and Greg still remembered it plain as if it had happened yesterday.

Greg had come back to 221 Baker Street, the weight and horror of the day making his whole body feel heavy. It had been the worst day of his life. Being forced to choose between his lovers and his career. He had plead with his superiors and insisted that Sherlock had been innocent of all the charges they were bringing against him. He knew that Sherlock hadn’t kidnapped those children. He _knew._ But damned Anderson and Donovan had insisted and gone to the Chief Super resulting in the clusterfuck they had been stuck in. They had forced him to stay and do all the paperwork for the case and go and make sure he got a statement from Molly about confirming it had been Sherlock’s body. God, all that blood on the street……

He came back to 221 to the sounds of Mrs. Hudson weeping in her flat and to John sitting in his chair just staring at the empty space in front of him; his fists clenched on the arms and tears sliding down his face and neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. John had looked so utterly broken. Greg had stood there and watched the tears fall, fighting the ones that were stinging his own eyes. He watched as the good doctor’s chin wobbled a bit and he shook his head before springing from the chair and charging at the DI with his fists flying. Greg hadn’t even tried to stop the onslaught of blows to his face and chest as John let his grief and anger overtake him.

“You fucking coward! You should have stood up for him! You should have not cared what those cunts said about him! You should have said fuck the job and stood up for what was right! This is your fault! He is dead because of you!” John had shouted at him while he pounded his fist into his bloody face before breaking down and clutching at his shirt front and sobbed. And Greg took it, because all the words and hurt John was throwing in his face was what he was already thinking. He had been berating himself all day long, his brain filled with ‘what-ifs’.  That was how they fell asleep that night. Wrapped in each other’s arms, blood drying on Greg’s face, tear streaks on both their faces while they lay on the hard unforgiving floor of the sitting room.

John had spent the next few weeks curled up in Sherlock’s dressing gown, wrapped in the blankets and pillows of Sherlock’s bed, desperately trying to cling to whatever scent of the man was left lingering in the fabrics left behind. He would not allow Greg into the room with him, simply locking the door behind him; so consumed by his grief that the older man became greatly concerned. The DI had been thankful that Mycroft had installed the surveillance in Sherlock’s room before the consulting detective died when he received a text from the government official that simply read _“He is fine. I took the liberty of removing his gun from the flat. He is only sleeping.”_

Though, over the months things had grown steadily worse. John had upped his drinking, and each night would get angry and mutter under his breath about how much of a ‘tosser’ or ‘bloody coward’ Greg was before heading out into the night and not coming back until the next morning smelling of cheap perfume and whiskey. It didn’t take Greg being a DI to know what the doctor had been up to before the shorter man would push past him in the morning to collapse into Sherlock’s bed to sleep. He would just leave the broken hearted silver haired man to head back to the job he now loathed and coworkers he hated.

He didn’t know what hurt worse, John’s harsh words or the fact that he was leaving the flat to shag random strangers from a bar. They hadn’t had sex since Sherlock’s death. They had attempted in the beginning, trying to bring a bit of normalcy back to their relationship that Greg was trying so hard to salvage, but John couldn’t stand the sight of him and sent him away. He didn’t know why he was still trying to keep things going when it was obvious that John no longer cared for him; but he felt a responsibility for the doctor now that Sherlock was gone from this world. But here they were sitting in the angry tense silence of the flat once again.

“You really should eat some of that curry John. You’ve lost so much weight. Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted you to starve yourself like this.” Greg said quietly as he continued to stare and pick at his own meal. John scoffed causing the DI to look up at the smaller man as he angrily drank the last of his glass of whiskey, the ice clinking.

“How do you know what Sherlock would have wanted?” John’s voice was bitter and Greg knew what was coming, a scene he was all too familiar with. “If you had known Sherlock so well you would have grown some bloody balls and stood up for him.” The DI watched as John shook his head and stood up with his ice filled glass clenched in his fist. “You knew NOTHING!” Greg braced himself as the doctor threw his glass towards his head, sending it shattering against the wall beside him. When he looked up at John’s face all he saw was disgust in the smaller man’s eyes and it broke his heart. “Get the fuck out _Greg_.” When the doctor said his name it was with a tone of such loathing and disgust. “I should have made you leave months ago. Just get out. I can’t stand the sight of you I want you out tonight.” Without another word the short blonde man turned on his heels and shut himself in Sherlock’s old room leaving the DI gaping at the door in shock.

Greg could barely breathe as his chest constricted with the overwhelming grief he felt as the doctor’s words cut right into his heart. Slowly he rose from his seat and headed up to the upstairs room where he had been sleeping since Sherlock’s fall and began packing up his meager belongings. All the things that he had brought from his last flat when Sherlock and John saved him from the deep depression of his divorce. He had no idea where he could go, or who he could call. How had he gotten here? How had they gone from so blissfully happy to one of them dead and the other to hating him so? But he supposed he deserved it all didn’t he? He had gotten too greedy, gotten too comfortable in the little life they had built around themselves. John was right. He was a coward. He was a selfish greedy coward, who if he had just stood up and said ‘No, this man is innocent’ the great git would be alive today. No, he deserved this and he would take the abuse John threw at him and he would leave just as the doctor told him to.

The DI slowly carried his duffle bag full of clothes and knick knacks down the stairs to the landing outside 221B finding John standing there with his hands on his hips. Greg set his belongings down gently before moving towards the doctor with his hands out, desperately wanting to try and make some sort of peace with the man before he left.

“John…”

Without warning John harshly kicked his bags down the stairs where they landed with a bang against the front door startling Greg badly, the silver haired man worried that he would be next to receive the physical brunt of John’s vicious anger.

“I said get out.”

John’s face was hard and his voice filled with venom as he stared at the DI, his jaw set in a firm angry line and his fist clenching and unclenching at his side before one pointed to the stairs. Greg brought his hands back into his own space, realizing that any sort of reconciliation and peace would not be had between the two men. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that almost completely constricted the air in his lungs as he blinked back the tears that were rapidly filling his eyes; turning his back and walking down the stairs towards the door.

“And don’t you ever come back here Gregory Lestrade. I mean it.”

That was the last thing he heard from the doctor before the door to 221B was slammed harshly effectively separating John from Greg. Leaving the latter to step out onto the still streets of London late at night.

Greg looked around with his bags in hand wondering where he would go. He really had no friends at the yard that he trusted or wanted to see. He would have to go to a dingy motel, since that is all he could afford at the moment. So with his heart heavy in his chest he picked up his bags and started to walk in the direction of the cemetery that held Sherlock’s body. There he fell asleep against the polished black headstone with tears running down his face and his bag clutched to his chest.

 

 


	2. Look What You've Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg in the aftermath of their conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try and post a chapter of this every day or two or few days. It just depends on how much time my little family and life will allow me. Hope you enjoy!

John paced angrily around the sitting room; the flat silent with the exception of the clock ticking on the wall, before stopping to look out the window overlooking the walk outside 221 Baker Street. There stood Greg with his bags in hand looking every bit as lost as John had felt over the last six months. Only Greg now no longer had someone to try and grieve with. The doctor's heart clenched a bit as he watched the DI quickly wipe his face before walking away from the flat in defeat, shoulders hunched and stride slow.  
  
A small part of John's mind was screaming at him to chase after him, to apologize, to tell him he hadn't meant the awful things he had been throwing in the older man's face over the last months. That he was sorry for every empty drunk shag he had found when the weight of their awful situation has proven to be too much. That he missed their shared lover, and the closeness that had died with him. But the larger drunker part of his brain was screaming that he should have kicked his arse before he left.  
  
As his brain warred in his head he took off up the stairs to the room that the DI had just vacated, desperate for something to destroy; because there was no way he would destroy anything that belonged to Sherlock. The doctor tore open every drawer in the dresser only to find it empty of Greg's belongings, and the bureau's space empty as well with the exception of the empty hangers. The angry drunk part of his brain made him roar in frustration before sending his fist firmly through the plaster of the wall with a sickening crunch. He probably broke a few of his knuckles, that much he was sure of as he slid his body down the wall cradling the injured appendage in his other hand.  
  
As he sat seething, a small flash of white under the edge of the bed caught the doctor's eye causing him to use his socked foot to pull the hidden object out into the dim light of the room. When it came into view a lump grew in his throat making it difficult to breathe.  
  
It was a Polaroid of himself, Greg and Sherlock; the three of them scrunched together in an attempt to all fit into frame. Greg was in the center of their trio with Sherlock's nose pressed into the side of the DI's face, the brunette wearing a genuine smile on his face; eyes twinkling and creased with his white teeth flashing in what was clearly a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. John himself was kissing the older man's cheek, the three of them all wrapped in each other's arms. The doctor remembered taking the picture. Sherlock had been rummaging through Greg's belongings when they had FINALLY convinced the man to give up his sad little flat to move in with them permanently. It had taken them months to convince the man that he was a welcome member of their relationship. Sherlock had made some smart arsed comment about how ridiculous the old and outdated Polaroid camera was, and how digital photos were superior.  
  
John blew a harsh breath out of his lips as tears filled his eyes and his heart clenched violently in his chest as the reality of the situation crashed down on him. He was alone now; completely and utterly alone. Sherlock was dead, and he had driven, no, demanded Greg out of his life. How had they gotten to this point? He shouldn't have sent the DI away, but every time he looked at him he remembered that Sherlock was gone and that neither of them could do anything to change that.  
  
Too much had passed between them, too many mistakes were made, and none of them could be taken back. So the good doctor pulled himself up off the floor and sunk down on the bed; the picture gently pressed to his chest as he breathed in the scent of Greg, his aftershave and his own smell, also the faint smell of cigarette smoke. The last smell caused a huge sob to erupt from John. Greg had given up smoking, both he and Sherlock had together, and he only smoked when he was beyond stressed and depressed (something both Sherlock and John discovered anytime Greg's ex-wife would contact him). If Greg was smoking again he must have been hurting so much. The small man let the sobs overtake him completely as he attempted to bury himself in the bedding; desperately begging and pleading to the air for things to be different. For Sherlock to have never met James Moriarty, or the Woman, that he had never been set up as a fake. That the world had believed in Sherlock Holmes the way that he always had, and fell asleep with the pillow beneath his face soaked through with tears and his hand throbbing as the adrenaline and whiskey wore off.  
  
\---------  
  
"Oi! Mate! You can't be sleepin' 'ere!"  
  
Greg jolted awake as his brain came back online with the loud voice addressing him.  
  
"They'll have me 'ead if I let you homeless lot start sleepin' in 'ere. People get upset when their loved ones are used as beds!"  
  
The DI rubbed his eyes harshly as he glared at the cemetery grounds keeper who was looking down haughtily at him. "Well, for your information this is MY loved one I'm using as my bed. And I'm not homeless, I'm with the Scotland Yard. So you can just bugger off!"  
  
Greg decided not to mention that he was now technically homeless by the definition since John had kicked him out, and watched as the other man sniffed and walked away from him. Rubbing both hands over his face he wiped the sleep out of his eyes and stood up to stretch out the kink in his neck and the soreness in his back.  
  
With a glance down at the polished black stone he picked up his bags and headed to the yard to pick up his car. He had left it there to walk and clear his head before going home to face the wrath if his now ex-lover. He didn't really blame John for kicking him out. He was surprised he hadn't done it sooner. He was right after all. He had been a coward that day.  
  
As he walked, Greg passed a news stand full of papers discussing the latest scandals going on in the country. The same papers who had smeared Sherlock's name; dubbing him as a 'fake genius'. It was papers like these who employed snakes like that reporter Kitty Riley that made him sick. If only people had known the real Sherlock, these things wouldn't have happened….

The silver haired man sucked in a quick breath before taking off at a quick pace towards his work, ignoring the strange looks he got from his fellow yarders as he stormed into his office with his bags slung over his shoulder. Sitting down at his desk he began tearing open the drawers of his desk to look for the last files he worked with Sherlock. If he couldn’t go back in time and change the way he acted that day of Sherlock’s fall, then he would prove to the world that Sherlock was a fake. Even if it took years he would go through each of the files and prove that it was Sherlock’s genius that had solved them and not him committing them.

He didn’t even notice when Sally Donovan stuck her head into his office, looking at him with concern, til her voice startled him out of his rushing about.

“Boss, you aren’t supposed to be here today. You aren’t due to be working til Tuesday.” He looked up only to glare at the woman. He had been pleasant and cordial due to the fact that he didn’t want to lose his job. But in reality it took a great deal of his willpower not to ream into her every day he saw her. It was she and Anderson who started the witch hunt on Sherlock and she had yet to apologize or even acknowledge her wrong doing in the situation.

He ignored her worried expression. “I need all the files on the cases that Sherlock assisted on.”

He clenched his teeth when he heard Sally let out an exasperated sigh at the request. “Greg, you look like hell. You haven’t shaved, and you look like you haven’t slept in days. You need to go home and rest on your days off. Not sitting here at the yard rummaging through files that the freak…”

“You shut your fucking mouth Donovan!”

Greg’s outburst startled the woman before him. His chest was heaving as he stared her down. He had always hated how Anderson and Donovan had called Sherlock a freak. Because he wasn’t a freak. Different? Yes. But a freak? Never. It was her own insecurities that had led her to the conclusion of the insulting words.

“I don’t _ever_ want to hear you refer to Sherlock Holmes as _‘the freak’_ again. Is that clear? It’s shite like that that is the reason that he is dead. So shut your fucking mouth and go get me the files. As soon as I have them I will be leaving.”

The DI watched the shocked lieutenant flounder for a moment, since he normally had a level temper with his co-workers and never yelled at people unless it was a life or death situation. After a minute of her gaping at him with her mouth open she snapped her jaw shut with a click and gave a firm nod before disappearing out of his office and shutting the door behind her.

Greg sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands as he fought to get his temper under control. He had done so well over the last months dealing with a hostile John Watson. So well. He never raised his voice at the smaller man when he was having abuse spewed at him. It had all taken its toll on him. Taking a deep breath in and letting it out he turned on his computer and began looking for flat’s that might be for rent in the area. It didn’t take long for him to find an available furnished studio flat in a shady part of town for a price that he could definitely afford. He didn’t care that he would probably get mugged on his way to and from work every day; since the area was known for its dislike of coppers. But he decided he would stop by and hopefully sign a lease today. He didn’t want to be looked at like a madman going over the files in the office. He needed his own place to stay.

15 minutes or so later Sally popped walked into his office carrying a box filled with files. “These are the first 50 cases that the Fr…I mean Sherlock assisted on. Do you want all the cases he was a part of? Or how many are you wanting?” The lieutenant bit her lip as she waited to be blown up at again by the DI.

Greg sighed before standing up and throwing his bags over his shoulder and taking the box from her. “This will be fine for now. But eventually I will need them all.”

He tried to ignore the suspicion he saw flashing in Sally’s face before her eyes landed on his bags.

“You leaving town Greg?”

Counting to 5 to keep his temper from raging over he breathed in through his nose. While he could be angry with her about the fact that Sherlock was dead, he could not fault her for being curious as to why he had all his worldly belongings slung over his shoulder while looking like an insane homeless man. “No, Donovan. I am not skipping town with official Scotland Yard files. I got kicked out of the flat I was living in last night. I am going to find a new one today and will be informing HR about it when I return on Tuesday. Now if you would please kindly get out of my way. I have to go.”

He pushed past her quickly, as to avoid any more questions about his living arrangements. No one at the yard had known about the unique relationship between himself, the consulting detective, and the good doctor. He thanked god for that as well. That would have made the entire thing a million times more difficult for him to explain at work and would have probably cost him his job entirely.

When he got to his car he tossed his bags into the backseat and set the box of files gently on the front seat beside him as he made his way towards the area of London where the flat was available, his mind carefully blank in the silence of the car. As he pulled up to the building he noticed it was pretty shabby and dank; a good deal of homeless people set up outside of it. This would work out just fine, since he probably wouldn’t spend much time here; and if he was lucky enough someone would see him and attack him and put him out of his misery……But not yet. He had to prove to the world that Sherlock Holmes was exactly what he said he was: A genius, a brilliant brilliantly good man.

Without any trouble he signed a lease with the dodgy building manager and was handed over the keys to the studio flat that was on the very top floor of the place. When he opened the door to the flat he realized why it was so cheap. The furniture was dingy at best. He would need to get a sheet or blanket to sit on the couch that was pressed up against the far wall of the flat; he didn’t want to risk any sort disease that might have taken up to living there. If he got a couch cover he could probably sleep on said couch because there was no way he would be sleeping on the bed that was provided. It looked similar to the bed that Greg had pulled Sherlock off of the first time they met during a drugs bust.

Reaching into his duffle he pulled out one of the extra sheets and blankets he had shoved in there half hazardly in his flight from 221B and carefully draped it over the sofa and tucked it into the cushions before curling up on it and draping the crocheted afghan over himself and falling asleep thinking about his plan to fix the damage he had inflicted on the world 6 months ago when he should have stood up for Sherlock. He would fix that. He would restore Sherlock’s name and reputation and then he would do the world a favor and bow out of this life with grace.


	3. Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shame, boatloads of shame  
> Day after day, more of the same  
> Blame, please lift it off  
> Please take it off, please make it stop"

Greg ran his hand harshly through his still damp hair as he hung up his mobile. He had just gotten off the phone with talking to Mrs. Hudson’s son and former lawyer about Sherlock’s involvement in her late husband’s trial; solidifying Sherlock’s alibi and removing the suspicion of the late consulting detective’s involvement in the three crimes that he assisted with at the time. With their two signed corroborations that would be faxed to his office it would prove that Sherlock had been with them in Florida during three crimes. The last of the three would be the 74th case that Sherlock was involved in that Greg had been able to put to rest any suspicious claims.

It had been six months since he had been kicked out of 221B by John. Any time he wasn’t working at the yard he was in his crummy little flat pouring over case files until he managed to fall asleep for 4 or 5 hours on the couch. The people living in his area had paid no mind to the fact that he was a copper; which was a bit suspicious. But he had a feeling that the large amount of homeless in the area were part of that. He couldn’t help but think that they were still loyal to Sherlock even in death and had kept him from getting mugged and knifed on a daily basis.

He blew out a slow breath through his nose as he looked down at John Watson’s file as it laid on the desk in front of him. He stared at the address of his next of kin contact, warring with himself on what to do. When he had called Mrs. Hudson to get the information he needed the older woman had plead with him to come by to try and help John. Apparently he had stopped leaving the flat entirely and was spending his days curled up in Sherlock’s chair staring at nothing; all while drunk as a skunk. Their old landlady had been attempting to draw him out of the shell he had become, fixing him food and cleaning up about the flat but it was always the same. According to the woman John had lost a significant amount of weight and she was fearful to walking up the stairs and finding that he had died. The DI had promised that he would do something to help as best he could.

She had also plead with him to return to 221 and how John just wasn’t the same since he left. It had been with a lump in his throat that he had told her that he made John worse and that all this mess was really all his fault. Mrs. Hudson, the saint that she is tried to tell him it really wasn’t and that John and Sherlock were both adults, and that they made their own choices no matter what anyone else did. The phone call had ended in tears and Greg staring at his firearm for a good half hour before he got back to contacting those who could clear Sherlock’s name. But he had promised Mrs. Hudson he would do something to help John as well.

So here he sat staring at Harriet Watson’s address. He had tried to phone number only to find it disconnected. Greg knew that Harry Watson had a drinking problem, but he also knew that John had no other family members, and he had alienated all his other friends that Greg could contact. So it looked like he was going to have to visit Harry to ask for help; since it was obvious that he himself couldn’t help the good doctor since he was the cause of all the smaller man’s heartache. Pulling on his shoes and jacket he placed all the files he had cleared Sherlock’s name in into a box and headed for his car. It didn’t take long til he was pulled up to the little house in Islington and he was walking up to the door on Crane Grove.

Taking a deep breath he knocked on the pristinely white door and waited patiently. He had no idea what to expect. John hadn’t said much about his sister; only that they didn’t get on because of Harry’s drinking problems. He was startled out of his thoughts when the door was opened slowly to reveal a short dark haired woman looking at him cautiously.

“Are you Harriet Watson?” Greg looked the woman over. She didn’t share any of the same features as John. Her hair was a dark brown, she was short like him, but didn’t share his nose or lips or face shape at all.

“No, I’m sorry Harry doesn’t live here anymore.”

Damn. “Do you know where I can get ahold of her? It’s about her brother John Watson.”

At the mention of the doctor’s name the woman opened the door fully with a look of alarm on her face.

“Johnny? What’s happened to him? I haven’t been able to reach him in over 9 months! Is he hurt? Oh god!” The woman became more and more upset the more questions she asked.

“No, no no no no no no.” Greg put his hands up to try and calm her. “John is not dead or gravely injured. But he does need help. Do you know where I can reach his sister?”

He watched as the woman placed her hand on her heaving chest as she tried to calm herself. “Harry and John don’t get along. I am Harry’s ex-wife Clara. What’s going on with John what help does he need?”

Greg took a deep breath, this was not going to be an easy conversation. “If you have a minute I could explain.”

The woman nodded and stepped aside inviting him into her home where she ushered him to the sitting room and left him there to fetch tea. When she finally settled down in the armchair across from the sofa she had directed the DI to she looked at him expectedly.

“Do you know who Sherlock Holmes is?” He figured that was the best place to start, if he was going to explain how his grieving ex lover had started his downward spiral.

“Of course. Johnny wasn’t close with Harry but he would call me from time to time to update me on what was going on. I know about Sherlock and Johnny.”

Of course she knew about Sherlock. Sherlock was the moon and stars to John. “Well then as you are probably aware, a little over a year ago Sherlock jumped off of St. Barts hospital roof and committed suicide. Well, as you can imagine John didn’t take the news so well. Especially since he saw it all happen.”

Clara’s hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. It was clear to Greg that though John didn’t get along with his sister this woman loved him enough for the both of them in her place. This was the right decision. He knew that this woman would care enough for him to help him.

“He has been on a downward spiral since Sherlock’s death. The reason you haven’t been able to reach him is because he smashed his phone about 9 months ago when he was angry with me. I don’t know how to help him. I was hoping that Harry could help him. Because……” Greg’s throat grew tight, “.......because he isn’t eating. He is drinking himself into oblivion. According to his landlady he just sits in Sherlock’s chair and stares at the wall all day long. I would go and help him….but…..he blames me for Sherlock’s death. I love the man, but I can’t….he wont let me….I just….I don't want him slowly killing himself this way. He needs someone who cares for him to help him see that there is so much more worth living for. And I don't think I can be the one to do it.” By the time Greg is finished speaking the tears are burning his eyes, and he fights them. He will not let them fall. Not here.

He didn’t look up when the woman gasp quietly, it wasn’t until she spoke. “Are you Greg?”

Oh gods, she knows who I am. What has John said to her about me? I’m sure she already knows how this is all my fault. Why I can’t help John because I’m a bloody coward.

“Please, don’t tell him I came to see you. He already hates me. I don’t want to add another thing to the list of ways I have betrayed him. I just thought Harry should know that her baby brother needs help. I have to be going.”

Without another word Greg was on his feet and rushing to the door; ignoring Clara’s calls for him to come back. He had to get out of that house. He had to get to the yard. He was going to the Super’s office and he would slap down the box full of files he had proven that Sherlock was free and clear of involvement apart from his assistance; INCLUDING the kidnapping case that Donovan and Anderson had been so set on accusing him of.

He drove to the yard and left his car parked outside. He was determined. It didn’t matter anymore whether he lost his job anymore. He would prove Sherlock’s innocence. He had helped John by making sure someone knew he needed help. That was all he needed to do, that was it. Just get through today, then he could go to sleep tonight and hopefully never wake up again.

Greg charged into the Chief Super’s office, pushing past his secretary who insisted he needed to wait and dropped the box unceremoniously onto the man’s desk.

“74.”

The chief super looked at the silver haired DI like he had lost his mind.

“74 cases all free and clear of any foul play involving Sherlock Holmes. 74 cases that have confirmed and corroborated alibis with sworn and signed witnesses to them. INCLUDING the kidnapping case that you lot were so hung up on. 74 cases that the New Scotland Yard would not have solved if it weren’t for Sherlock Holmes. 74 cases that you lot felt were proof enough to condemn a man, sell his name to the papers, shame him and forced him to jump from the roof of St. Barts. 74 cases that you ungrateful lot seem to overlook. Sherlock Holmes was a bloody genius and I believe in him. I regret today that I never stood up to you about it. He was real, he was amazing and I believed in Sherlock Holmes and everyone in this office should be thankful for the help and service he had provided.”

The DI’s ears were pounding as he shouted his anger and regret at the Chief Super. His superior’s office door wide open, leaving the entirety of the Scotland Yard to hear his ranting. The Chief Super looked up at him in shock.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, I suggest you take a moment to remember who you are speaking to.”

“I don’t care. Take my badge from me. I do not care. That man saved so many lives, put so many criminals behind bars. He deserves the respect that you and the rest of these people here have always denied him. If the Scotland Yard cannot admit to its mistakes and recognize a hero when he sees one, than I don’t want to work for it anymore.” Greg reached into his pocket and dropped his badge on the desk. “I will return my firearm tomorrow.” And then left the building, leaving his coworkers shocked in his wake.

\-------------

John took another swig from the whiskey bottle. He had given up drinking from glasses when he smashed the last one against the wall after he had ripped up the Polaroid of him, Sherlock and Greg last week. He had quickly made an attempt to tape it back together, it looked truly sad, but he had managed to fix it. He stared at the empty chair in front of him where Sherlock should be sitting. If only he could go back, he would have told him how marvelous and amazing he was before he left him. Or maybe he would have just joined him on the roof and jumped. He had been so cruel to Sherlock, calling him a machine. God, when was his body going to get the picture and just give out on him. He hadn’t eaten in over a week as well, simply drinking and sleeping all the time.

Petite footsteps on the stairs made him groan out loud in annoyance. When was Mrs. Hudson going to stop pestering him. Really? He would be gone and dead soon and she won’t have to worry about him anymore.

“GO AWAY MRS. HUDSON! I DON’T NEED ANY TEA OR BISCUITS OR COMPANY! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!”

The footsteps stopped outside the door before it was pushed open slowly. “It’s not Mrs. Hudson Johnny.”

The good doctor’s head snapped up, the voice of his old friend sobering him up a little bit. What was Clara doing here?

He turned and watched the tiny woman walk in looking as beautiful as the day he had met her when Harry brought her home. She was a bit thinner than the last time he saw her. No doubt from being married to his sister. Harry was always very difficult to deal with. Suddenly his eyes began to fill with tears as shame filled his chest. He knew that Clara struggled dealing with Harry’s drinking, it ruined their marriage. And here he was drunk as can be wallowing in his own filth and misery.

“Oh Johnny….”

He could hear the sadness in her voice as she walked a little closer and knelt down in front of him; the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He was so tired, so tired, and so alone and hurting so much. He didn’t fight her as she took the bottle of whiskey out of his hands and set it softly on the ground.

“He’s gone Clara. He’s gone and now I’m all alone. I don’t know what to do.” The doctor finally let the dam break that he had been building up over the last 6 months since he had kicked Greg out. He let himself let go of his grief as he sobbed and clutched to his former sister in law. Not even aware enough to be embarrassed that he was getting snot and tears all over her gorgeous dress and sweater. He just allowed himself to be held as he let it all out. He didn’t know how long he clutched onto Clara, or how long he cried. But once the sobs subsided to whimpers she brushed his overgrown fringe out of his face and kissed his forehead.

“What is happening is you are coming home with me. I won’t let you waste away like this Johnny. I won’t.” She squeezed his hands gently before rising up and pulling him along with her down the hall to Sherlock’s room where she instructed him to pack a bag to come with her. He allowed himself to be maneuvered out of the flat and into a cab that took him to Clara’s house.

When they arrived she directed him towards the bathroom and instructed him to get showered and that when he was done he was going to eat a hot meal and then go to bed. She was a saving grace Clara. Full of patience and love. How she knew that he needed her he would never know.

“We’ll get you through this Johnny. You and I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are my life force. So thank you to those you provide them.


	4. Jumper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know something's wrong   
> Well everyone I know has got a reason   
> To say put the past away   
> I wish you would step back   
> From that ledge my friend "

“He did WHAT?!?!” Sally was standing in the middle of the conference room where Anderson was taking photos of evidence that had been collected at their most recent crime scene; cataloging each item.

“Yup. He just waltzed into the Chief Super’s office, dropped the box of files, started yelling, and then said he didn’t care if it cost him his job and threw his badge down on the desk. It was pretty alarming. I have never seen the Chief Super look so confused and out of depth in the whole time I have been working for the Yard. Then he just walked out after saying he would return his firearm tomorrow.”

Donovan dropped down into the closest chair. She had never seen Greg lose his temper; well she had, but definitely not to this extent. She had no idea that he had become so obsessed about the freak’s involvement in the cases. She had figured he had given up on that whole thing months ago since she hadn’t heard anything from him about it. “He just…..left? That doesn’t sound like Greg. The job is everything to him. It broke his marriage with his ex-wife…..just….why?”

The lieutenant sat with her mouth hanging open while Anderson continued to snap pictures and gave a small shrug. “Who knows what has gotten into him. Maybe this is his midlife crisis?”

While Sally’s mind was whirling at the news that her boss and mentor had literally just thrown his career away over Sherlock Holmes accusations, the Chief Super’s assistant stuck her head in the conference room and startled her out of her thoughts. “Donovan, the Chief Super would like to see you in his office.”

 _Great, what now?_ Getting up from her chair she marched the short distance to her superior’s office and knocked gently until she was given the indication to come in. The Chief looked absolutely flustered when she opened the door; the box of files still in front of him with a few that were taken out and laid across the desk.

“Donovan, come in and sit down.” She watched the man run his hand through his thinning hair before leveling her with a look that would have most very worried for the future of their career. “Did you know about this? That he was going through all these case files and reexamining them?”

“I knew he had asked for the files. But I didn’t know what he was doing with them.”

The Chief Super rubbed his forehead before he opened the top drawer of his desk. “I want you to go take this back the Lestrade.” He tossed the DI’s badge across the desk to the woman in front of him. “Tell him he is on temporary paid leave while a team cross checks and references all the notes and evidence he has presented in these files. If it turns out that all of these files and cases did not have tampering with by Sherlock Holmes to make himself look more credible than he was, then he can return to duty. If not, he will risk the chance of him losing his job.”

Sally couldn’t help the wave of anxiety and nausea that rose up in her chest. She didn’t like Sherlock Holmes, that much everyone knew. He was arrogant, rude, and would flaunt her faults and shortcomings for all the world to know. But she did respect and care about whether or not Gregory Lestrade lost his job over trying to defend Sherlock’s honor. She didn’t want to have Greg meet the same end that Sherlock did. So she took the badge and pocketed it and nodded to the Chief Super before leaving his office and heading to HR to get Greg’s current address.

 -------------

“Evening Johnny.” Clara said brightly as the good doctor came out of her spare room clutching his head. He had been sleeping since 10 am that morning when she brought him home to her house, and it was now 8 pm. “There are some paracetamol in the cupboard over the phone. Also, I figured we could order Thai takeaway for dinner tonight. Whatdya think?”

John’s chest tightened at the mention of Thai food. He hadn’t eaten it since he had sent Greg away. He couldn’t even look at a menu without feeling ill about how that night had been. He still wished he could go back and take it away, but he knew that wasn’t possible. His harsh words and actions were written in stone and no one could erase the damage done by them. “No Thai please……I just……I can’t eat it.”

Clara gave him a concerned look, but didn’t press the matter as to why when she saw the sad look in his eyes and the way his face drained of color. “That’s fine Johnny. Really it is, how does fish and chips sound instead?”

John could only nod as he plopped himself down on the couch where, unbeknownst to him, Greg had sat less than 24 hours ago. He let his head rest on the back of the plush sofa as he stared at the ceiling and fought the tears filling his eyes. He wanted a drink. Badly. That is how he had been spending the last months anytime he thought of what happened with Greg, or the way Sherlock looked as he fell from St. Bart’s…..the way his coat billowed in the air beside him as he flew towards the ground….

“Johnny….did you want to talk about it?”

He fought to get sound out over the lump in his throat as he shook his head; still staring at the ceiling. “What good is talking going to do about it Clara?”

He heard her sigh, the sigh he had come to associate with her as an adopted big sister. It was a sigh that was filled with sadness on behalf of him and his pain. “It could help so much Johnny. It helps to purge the pain and poison of it all out of your body. You need to talk about it. Did you talk about it at all with Greg after it happened?”

John couldn’t help the choked sob that erupted out of his throat as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands; sobriety making the whole conversation a million times harder. If only he had some whiskey. If he had some whiskey he could talk about Sherlock and about Greg. Oh Greg. “I did talk, but it was never anything that was therapeutic or helpful, and it was usually shouting.”

When he met his adopted sister’s eyes the tears that had been gathering in his own spilled down his cheeks at the look of sadness and pity he saw in her’s. “What happened Johnny? Where is Greg and why is he not with you now?”

“I s-sent….I sent him away…..More like demanded he leave…..I just…..I was so angry. After Sherlock. There was this…this…giant gaping hole that was ripped in my soul when I watched him fall. I…I blamed Greg….for not standing up for Sherlock to his work…which is ridiculous really. He was doing his job. Just like me following orders as a soldier. I shouldn’t have faulted him for that. But I needed someone to blame. I needed….I needed to not feel so responsible myself for Sherlock dying. I had to watch him Clara. I had to watch him jump. I watched him fall. I head the crack of his head on the pavement. I felt his pulse gone, and I could do nothing NOTHING to stop him. It was like my love and belief in him wasn’t enough….” The doctor fought to keep his voice level, but it began to crack the more he spoke; soon the words turned into sobs. “I wasn’t enough Clara! No matter how much I loved him, and he still felt he had to die. Did he even think about what it was doing to me?!?!? What I had to endure watching him take his own life?!?! It fucking BROKE ME! It broke Greg too! And what did I do? I shut out the only person who ever loved Sherlock like I did. The only person who loved _me_ the way Sherlock did. I blamed him. I blamed him and I treated him horribly….Oh god Clara! I should have died right along with Sherlock. This is….It is too hard!” His chest was heaving as Clara got up from her chair and wrapped her arms around the man she had called brother for 15 years.

“No Johnny. There are so many people who still care about you and love you. I am sure things could be fixed with Greg if you really wanted them to be. I’m sure of it.” She ran her fingers through his hair as she cradled his head to her chest as he sobbed uncontrollably. “Things may seem dark right now, but they can get better. They always get better. First step is getting sober. It’s hard to see the light in the situation when the pull of alcohol is pulling you to the dark.” John just clutched to her tighter as he cried, the thought of giving up all alcohol was a difficult thought. It made everything numb. Took away the blinding pain in his mind and his heart. “I think you also need to move into a different flat. I am going to have you stay with me for a while to make sure you are doing alright. But it cannot be doing you any good sitting in that flat staring at the life that you used to have. You also need to start practicing medicine again. I know that you can heal Johnny. I _know_ you can. And I am going to help you. I couldn’t help Harry, but I will not lose you Johnny. We will get through this together. I know we will.”

 

\-------------

 

Molly stepped into the stairwell, shoving her keys into her bag after having locked up the morgue after her late shift. She was about to leave when she saw a familiar face flash by the hallway towards the door that led to the stairs that brought you to the roof. _What is Greg doing here?_ A flash of panic filled her chest as she pulled out her phone and texted the number for Mycroft Holmes that Sherlock had given her over a year ago before he jumped. They had decided the day that Sherlock jumped that if Greg or John were ever to head to the roof unattended to take action immediately.

I THINK WE MAY HAVE A PROBLEM. GREG LESTRADE IS HERE AND HEADING FOR THE ROOF. DANGER NIGHT. –Molly

She pocketed her mobile and made a dash for the stairs and silently followed the silver haired DI on his slow ascent to the roof of St. Bartholomew’s hospital. Her phone gave a quiet vibration in her pocket.

I WILL BE THERE SHORTLY. PLEASE DO YOUR BEST TO KEEP HIM FROM DOING ANYTHING RASH. –MH

She started to quicken her pace since she had lost sight of the DI when she stopped to look at her phone; trying to run as quietly as she could. She didn’t want to spook the DI. He looked so lethargic and sad when he had passed by. As she reached the last level and opened the door to the roof her hand flew to her mouth as she saw Gregory Lestrade standing on the edge of the roof, right where Sherlock had over a year ago, with a bottle of vodka hanging in his hand. She had to think fast and not move too suddenly or speak too loudly. She didn’t want to startle him and have him accidentally fall off the tall building.

“Greg….” The pathologist slowly started walking towards the officer she had worked with for years.

Greg turned his head slightly and looked sadly at her over his shoulder before turning his gaze back over the city view he had from the ledge of the building.

“Molly, do you think he was scared? Before he jumped? Or do you think that he felt relieved…….because I feel scared…..”

The woman’s heart ached for the man standing before her. Because she knew the exact answer to the man’s question.

“Greg, please come down off the ledge and we can talk…..Please Greg. Please come down off of there. You are scaring me.” She watched as his slouched shoulders began to shake and the sound of his weeping drifted towards her ears on the evening breeze.

“Why Molly? Why should I step back from this edge? Sherlock is dead. John hates me, I hate my job….well I don’t really have a job anymore do I?”

Molly kept her slow and silent walk towards the man whose back was to her, not wanting to alert him to her closeness to his proximity. She waited to speak again until she could slip her hand into his; causing him to look down at her. That was when she got a good look at the man she hadn’t seen in almost 9 months. His face had become gaunter; his normally cheery cheeks now hollow. The dark circles under his sunken eyes that were rimmed red with his weeping. He looked completely and utterly broken and it broke her heart; knowing that the cause of all her pain was a secret she simply couldn’t reveal.

“Greg. Please come down now. Sherlock would **_not_** want this for you. He loved you so very much. I know this because I was the last one to talk to him before he fell. He spoke of his love for both you and John. He spoke of how scared he was that he wasn’t able to keep you safe. He was so regretful of many things and the way it all had gone. I **_know_** he did not blame you for what happened that day with the met. **_I KNOW._** Now please come down from there. I know that Sherlock would not want you to throw this all away. I know he wouldn’t want you to give up. I know that he wanted you to keep going. To catch criminals. To love and be happy.” She gave the man’s hands a little tug to urge him down again. “Come on Greg. Let’s get you home. “

The DI gave a great sob before nodding his head and stepping back off the edge and let Molly clutch him in a fierce hug. He had no idea the woman had such strength to her. He just sobbed and allowed himself to be held tightly as her hand gently cradled the back of his head and neck; urging him to drop his head down onto her shoulder.

“Please Greg, don’t give up hope. Please don’t do this again. It would break my heart beyond words if I had you end up on my table downstairs. I mean it. It would absolutely tear my heart in two.” Molly pulled herself back slightly to take the older man’s broken face in her hands and used her thumbs to wipe the tears away from his wind chapped cheeks. “Let’s get you home, ok? I’m going to go with you and take you home. You should not be alone right now.”

Greg was silent and let the smaller woman lead him off the roof and down the stairs til they were standing out in front of the building and looking at the shiny black town car that was obviously Mycroft Holmes. With a last look up at the ledge he had almost jumped off of, he hung his head in embarrassment and shame and regret as he climbed into the back to the car, followed by Molly, and allowed himself to be driven home to his dingy flat and pathetic existence. _I truly am a coward._


	5. Where'd You Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tired of sittin' and hatin' ad makin' these excuses,  
> For a while you're not around, and feelin' so useless.  
> It seems one thing has been true all along,  
> You don't know what you got til its gone.....
> 
> Where'd you go?  
> I miss you so.  
> Seems like its been forever,  
> Since you've been gone."

"And you're certain this is the proper address?" Sally Donovan looked down her nose at the HR representative. There had to be some kind of mistake, the address she had given her was in Southwark, one of the areas of London most notorious for knife crimes and assaults. Why on earth would Greg have an address for someplace like that?

"I am positive. He came in six months ago and updated it." The short stout woman behind the desk glared at the lieutenant, obviously offended by the other woman's questioning of her competency.

Sally looked at the woman one more time before she left the office with the address in hand and headed towards her car. She had tried calling Greg earlier after the Chief Super had called her to his office, but no one had answered. She hoped that Greg would be home. She didn't want to be stuck on that part or town on her own.

 ----------

Greg slid himself across the posh leather seat of the town car and immediately looked out the window. He didn't want to look at Molly or Mycroft. He didn't want to hear their lectures on how selfish and irresponsible he was. Be just wanted to go back to his shitty flat and go to sleep and never wake up. When he felt the seat dip beside him he had assumed it had been Molly taking the empty space beside him. That was until an arm wearing a tailored suit wrapped itself around himself shoulders and pulled the DI close.

"Gregory." Greg had never heard Mycroft speak in such a soft, sad and somehow understanding tone. It shook the DI to his core as he was enveloped in the ginger man's arms. He smelled similar to Sherlock. But where Sherlock smelt more of spice, lab chemicals, and London air; Mycroft smelt crisp and clean with a sweet hint of something Greg couldn't place. He could however smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke, the man obviously had been smoking.

The weight of the familiarity and strong arms holding him up and supporting him for the first time in over a year crushed down on him fully. Breaking the dam of emotions and sadness and loneliness that had steadily built up in the silver haired man. He couldn't control himself as his body began to shake with the tremors and shock of almost jumping off the building his lover had; his breaths coming in short shallow pants causing his chest to burn with the lack of oxygen.

"Doctor Hooper. If you could please grab the paper bag that is tucked into that console there?"

Greg could barely register Mycroft's voice as the lack of oxygen began to make his ears ring and his vision sparkle. The promise of potential unconsciousness was very inviting; but he allowed Mycroft to press the now open paper bag to his face.

"Gregory." Mycroft voice was soft and calm as he spoke directly into the DI's ear. "I need you to try and calm your breathing please. We don't want you hyperventilating. Take deep breaths with me." The government official began breathing a loud and steady rhythm to aid the older man in calming himself.

Greg took deep lungful’s of the oxygenated air from the paper bag pressed to his face as his hearing began to clear and his eyes began to sting. He had wept so many times. Quiet weeping to himself in bed, in the car, at Sherlock's grave; small quiet bought of weeping he only allowed for a few moments before he would curse himself and force himself to stop. Telling himself he didn't deserve the luxury of crying for the men he betrayed.

The arm around him tightened and pulled him close to the younger man's side. "You are allowed to grieve Gregory." _How does he always do that? Reading your mind without you saying anything?_ "Contrary to Doctor Watson's words to you, Sherlock death was not your fault. The blame does not fall on your shoulders. You were doing your job. The job you were trained to do. The job that saved Sherlock from himself all those years ago. Sherlock did not and would not fault you for that. Your diligence to upholding and defending the law given the evidence presented, is exactly what he knew you would do. His actions were his and his alone. No one could have helped or changed the outcome of that day. No one. You are allowed to acknowledge the pain of your loss. Both of them."

The government officials words were spoken in a loving and sad tone Greg had never heard the man use. Iceman indeed. But the words of comfort and reassurance washed over the man just the same and the tears began to spill from his eyes as he turned to clutch onto the other man. Mycroft did not appear repelled or disgusted by the man now rumpling his, no doubt expensive, suit. He simply allowed the man to use him as an anchor and hugged him back as Greg rested his head on his chest and sobbed heart wrenching sobs.

The DI didn't know how long he cried or when the car had stopped in front of his flat, but when he managed to compose himself enough to look out the window be felt absolutely exhausted. "Sorry 'bought that." Greg scrubbed at his eyes harshly.

"Gregory, you never have to be sorry for expressing your grief. You should have done so long ago." Mycroft straightened his suit a bit before exiting the car and holding the door open for Molly and the DI.

"Thanks for the ride. I'll be fine for the night." Greg felt bone tired and just wanted sleep. He didn't feel like having a chaperone.

"Gregory, Doctor Hooper and I will be escorting you upstairs and I will be taking inventory of what you need. I will not allow you to live in complete neglect and squalor. You have punished yourself for far too long. It is time you took better care of yourself."

"Greg..."

Sally Donovan's sudden voice cut through the DI like ice. She was the last person he wanted to see today; and how did she find out where he lived.

"Gregory, if you would be so kind as to give me your keys and Doctor Hooper and I will get started." Mycroft held out his hand with a look that brooked no argument. So Greg passed over his keys.

"It's the second one on the left on the top floor."

Greg figured Mycroft already knew that tidbit of information, but supplied it nonetheless before turning to face Sally.

The lieutenant had her hands shoved in her pocket and she looked nervous. She stood there staring at him for a good minute with her lips pressed in a thin line before she pulled out something and held it out in front of her for him.

"Chief Super told me to bring this to you and to tell you that you are on temporary paid leave until a team double checks your work on the Holmes files. He says if it all checks out you can come back. But if not..."

"I lose my job. I get it. Anything else?" Greg tried his best to hold his temper under control. Being around Sally was one of the hardest things he had to endure. Her presence and the lack of Sherlock's just reminded him of all his failures.

He watched as Sally floundered a bit. ".....why?" "Why what?" "Why did you do that? Take all that time to clear his name? Why did it matter to you? He's already dead. What good does it do?"

Greg felt his last string holding his temper in place. The day had already been too much for him to handle, he already felt raw and worn thin.

"BECAUSE!" he exploded, causing quite a few of the homeless around them to perk up, now interested in what was happening. "Because I bloody loved the man! Both of them! I was living with them yeah! Bet you or Anderson didn't know that did ya?" The silver haired man was shaking with rage, adrenaline and grief. He no longer cared if Sally or anyone knew. "I loved Sherlock Holmes and John Watson more than you could ever imagine! And you and fucking Anderson put me between a rock and a hard place. You two made me choose between the two men who saved me after Monica left me, the two men who showed me more love and compassion than anyone else, the two men who mean everything in the world to me and my fucking job. And because of you and Anderson Sherlock Holmes is dead!!!"

Greg couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face as he looked at Donovan. The woman gaping in shock and sadness at her longtime partner. He took a deep breath to calm his voice, his head tired from all the days’ turmoil. "I believe in Sherlock Holmes. I have always believed in him. And now he is gone."

He turned to go into his building to make sure Molly and Mycroft weren't too horrified with his living arrangement when Sally spoke up again. This time her voice hushed and rough.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Greg turned to face her again with a look of frustration in his face. "Why? So you and Anderson could keep on calling him a freak? The one name that hurt him the most? I said nothing to avoid both my and their persecution.....go home Donovan. You did your duty. You delivered your message now go."

Greg climbed the steps slowly. His legs felt like lead on the 7 story climb til he came to his door and walked in. Molly was sitting on the couch with tears in her eyes as she looked around the revolting flat. While Mycroft looked at him with stern stormy eyes.

"Gregory. I am going to be restocking and having this flat cleaned. You cannot go on punishing yourself in this way. You will go home with me tonight and return tomorrow night."

As soon as Greg opened his mouth to argue when he caught Mycroft's sad gaze.

"Please Gregory?"

Greg knew he couldn't win this. Not with both Molly and the British government against him. So he just nodded and headed back down the stairs to climb into the sleek black car; leaving Mycroft to lock up his flat after him. He knew that no matter what he said or did would convince those two that he was fine living the way he was. That this was his way of penance for his cowardly life. That this was the place he deserved to live in and the conditions required to show the universe how sorry he was.

The DI said nothing as Mycroft and Molly climbed into the car, not the whole ride to drop Molly of at her own flat. He only nodded in acknowledgment, not looking at her when she bid him farewell for the evening. He just sat in silence until they reached Mycroft's gorgeous home; then he allowed himself to be led through the great house and up the stairs to a room. It was then the ginger man turned and faced him fully.

"This was Sherlock's room when he stayed with me during and after his recovery. I thought that you may need the comfort of him to surround you right now."

As the government official opened the door Greg felt like his chest would cave in. The entire room screamed of Sherlock. A small lab and chemistry set was set up in a corner of the room; complete with a special sink to dispose of chemicals in, as well as an eye rinse. Books were precariously stacked in large piles all over. It even smelled like him; smelled as if the man had just been there moments before. God, how he missed that smell.

"There is a bathroom right through that door should you need it, as well as Sherlock old pajamas in the dresser. Please get some rest Gregory, you deserve a reprieve."

Without another word the younger man left Greg to slowly make his way around the room; reverently touching the artifacts left behind by the man he loved. When he reached the dresser he opened the top drawer and choked out a small laugh. Next to the pile of pajama bottoms and white tees were 5 of Greg's "lost" badges. Tears filled his eyes again as he slowly undressed from his own clothes and slipped his nude body into the pajamas; wanting to feel as close to the dead Holmes brother as he could. He didn't bother brushing his teeth or showering; simply sliding under the thick duvet and surrounded himself in the comforting smell of Sherlock while he let himself cry himself to sleep.


	6. Who I Am Hates Who I've Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'cause I don't want you to know where I am  
> 'cause then you'll see my heart  
> In the saddest state it's ever been.
> 
> This is no place to try and live my life.
> 
> Stop right there. That's exactly where I lost it.  
> See that line. Well I never should have crossed it.  
> Stop right there. Well I never should have said  
> That it's the very moment that  
> I wish that I could take back.
> 
> I'm sorry for the person I became.  
> I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change.  
> I'm ready to be sure I never become that way again  
> 'cause who I am hates who I've been.  
> Who I am hates who I've been.
> 
> I talk to absolutely no one.  
> Couldn't keep to myself enough.  
> And the things bottled inside have finally begun  
> To create so much pressure that I'll soon blow up.
> 
> I heard the reverberating footsteps  
> Synching up to the beating of my heart,  
> And I was positive that unless I got myself together,  
> I would watch me fall apart.
> 
> And I can't let that happen again  
> 'cause then you'll see my heart  
> In the saddest state it's ever been.
> 
> This is no place to try and live my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for this update. Life just doesn't want to give me a break sometimes. Had a bit of family drama and ended up packing up the hubs and the kids and left to go camping to give myself time to be upset and what not. So I couldn't really focus on writing. But I have decided to give zero fucks about dumb crazy people who like to start drama and so I am doing much better now. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> In about 4 chapters or so our lovely Sherlock shall return!!! YAY!!! But what will he think of whats left of his lovers lives?

Greg silently ran his knuckles gently across the slightly fogged glass of the town car that had brought him back to his dingy flat in Southwark. They had been parked for the last 15 minutes, and the government official sitting across from him was making no indication that there was any rush for him to remove himself from the car. Mycroft had been so incredibly kind and accommodating to the grieving DI; having meals brought to Sherlock’s old room, allowing him the privacy to sleep and surround himself with everything Sherlock in a way that he had been denied back at 221 Baker Street. No, John had taken that all for himself in that space; banishing the older man to his misery and punishment for his involvement in Sherlock’s demise.

It had been both healing and extremely painful to spend the last three weeks in that room. Greg winced internally at the fact that he had allowed himself to overstay his welcome at Mycroft’s home the way he had.  Though, like now, the tall ginger man had not rushed him or pushed him to leave. He had simply been there for Greg in a way that no one else had. The younger man had wrapped his arms around him gently and allowed him to sob like an infant into the fronts of his waistcoats when he heard Greg waking up to his despair. Drifting in and out of that space between dreaming and awake, surrounded by the scent of his lost love tricking his mind to thinking he had been wrapped in the warmth of his arms. He had cried out in agony the first time I happened; clutching the pillows as he tried to stop the stream of tears running down his cheeks. He still did not believe himself to be allowed to feel the emotions of loss and was struggling with the need to punish himself further.

But upon hearing Gregory’s cry of pain he had rushed into the room just in time to take the older man’s hands in his own to keep him from stifling his cries; soothingly speaking in soft tones that everything would be alright and to let it out. Both Mycroft and Molly had saved him from jumping off the roof of St. Barts, and continually were checking in on him while he spent his time in that room. Slowly he began to emerge more often, leaving the room to run an errand or have a coffee with Molly, but he was always allowed back into Sherlock’s room as a hideout of his own.

“Gregory.”

Mycroft’s calm soft voice brought the DI back to the present causing Greg to glance at the clock in the car; they had been sitting here for a half an hour now. Embarrassment flooded the man as his cheeks flushed scarlet. “Sorry. I’ll get out now.”

“Gregory there is no rush for you to go back to this flat. You know that don’t you? You are welcome to stay in my home until you feel like you have your footing under you again. There is no need for you to continue living this existence in hopes it will punish you in the way you want. Sherlock would not have wanted that, and neither would John.”

Greg’s chest tightened hearing his lover’s brother speak of his lost loves. He knew that John would have rather he jumped off the roof those weeks ago before Molly pulled him down, and Sherlock…..well Sherlock was dead wasn’t he? “I’m sorry for overstaying my welcome in your home. I cannot repay you for the kindness you’ve shown Myc. Really I cannot. But thank you for your concern and caring.” As the DI made to remove himself from the car his elbow was caught by the ginger man.

“Take this if you feel you must stay here.”

The government official pressed a small key ring into the palm of Greg’s hand where the DI turned it over and examined it thoroughly before looking at the other man in confusion.

“The first, and larger key will grant you access to the side entrance of my home, the second key is for Sherlock’s room alone. If for **_any, ANY,_** reason you feel the need to visit or need a place to stay or think, you are welcome to on your own terms. You may also remove a thing or two from the room when you leave. My brother would not have wanted his things to collect dust when they could serve a better purpose for yourself. Do not be a stranger Gregory. You have those who still are here to support your through this.” The man placed a small package in the silver haired man’s hair before finally allowing the man to leave the car watching as Greg made his way up to his building.

**

Mycroft sat in his car for a few more minutes after the DI walked into his building, debating, for not the first time, whether or not to tell the man that Sherlock’s death had been a staged affair. He had thought to tell the man that exact fact once he received his message from Doctor Hooper, but had thought better of it.

They had not heard from Sherlock in almost two and a half months when he had his last check in. He had dropped off of all contact with the government official. No point in telling the DI that Sherlock’s death was staged when the very real possibility of him being dead now was imminent. Why give the man a hope, just to rip it away from him again?

No, he would simply keep an extra close eye on the older man. He had restocked the kitchen with a plethora of food, a new couch cover, a new bedframe and mattress set complete with new bedding as well, and updated the locks in the flat to give the man more security. Though he doubted the DI needed anymore security than that he had sleeping on the streets in front of his building. Sherlock’s homeless network had proven to be quite the watchdogs for the man, even though he was completely oblivious to the knowledge.

Mycroft would up his efforts in finding his brother, and keep an eye on the detective inspector since the once good doctor John Watson was being watched over by his former sister in law. All any of them could do was wait to see what the future would hold.

**

“Your meeting starts in a half an hour. Would you like me to come with you this time as well?” Clara was pouring coffee for John and herself as she sat down across from him at her kitchen table. John had hated going to the AA meetings at the church down the road. He didn’t really have a problem. Not really. He just tended to self-medicate with whiskey….ok, maybe he had a bit of a problem. He had sat at the meetings for the last three weeks listening to people stand up and cry about how hard their lives were; hating each and every one of them for their stories, because none of them had lost their Sherlock. He had.

Clara had diligently come with him to each meeting. She had him going to meetings daily, one of the ground rules from the first day of his recovery. She would sit beside him and listen, she would sometimes cry as well. John often wondered if it was more painful for her to help him than anything. Especially since Harry decided that the booze was far more important than Clara and their dreams of having children together. He still hadn’t been able to figure out how she knew that he needed her help, and she still refused to tell him who it was who had let her in on his struggle….it couldn’t have been Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson didn’t know anything about Harry, and Mycroft had stopped meddling a month after Greg had moved out….

“John?” Clara was looking at him with concern in her eyes. “Did you want me to come with you again tonight?”

John shook his head slightly to straighten his thoughts to the here and now again. “No, I think I want to go on my own this time. Yes, I promise I will go. No skipping off to the pub. I promise.” He gave her a weak smile as she pat his hand gently and left him to his thoughts.

**

Greg trudged up the stairs to his flat and put his keys in the lock and opened the door. To his shock, the entire flat looked a billion times better than the last time he had been there. He had assumed that Mycroft would have just restocked the fridge and cupboards. He had not expected the entire flat to be cleaned from top to bottom, the walls painted, a new bed provided and the old one carted away, a proper couch cover and cushions, new floors installed; it looked nothing like the dingy flat he had left.

In the corner of the room a new wardrobe was sitting with one of the doors ajar revealing all his suits and clothes hung up, obviously laundered and dry cleaned, and the row of his shoes lining the bottom. He slowly sank down on the new bed as tears filled his eyes and his chest became unbearably heavy. Why was Mycroft doing so much to help and accommodate him? Sherlock was dead, he had no responsibility to care for the DI.

Greg stared at the parcel in his hands, still along with the keys that the government official had given him before he left the car. Gently he placed the keys on the new dark walnut bedside table. Turning the package about in his hands for a moment he began to rip the plain brown paper off of the small box before opening it. The tears spilled over his lashes as he took in the deep blue colored scarf that had been carefully folded and wrapped in the box with care; a note that was placed on top that read: “Do not hesitate to call should you need to. –MH” with the man’s number perfectly printed at the bottom of the paper.

Holding the scarf to his nose he took in a deep shuddering breath as he let the scent of Sherlock fill his nose. His mind filled with countless memories of clutching to Sherlock and breathing in that scent; at home in 221B coming home from a hard day on a case, in the throes of passion with John at his back, in the comfort of his arms after Monica had come back to try and reconcile their relationship….all of them flooded his mind and heart. Where only had been pain three weeks ago at the thought of the younger man, happy feelings of gratefulness had begun to emerge in the sadness. The weight of guilt and grief not so heavy anymore, though still ever present and pressing. Now instead of thinking about the “what ifs” he began to thank whatever deity would listen for letting him share the smallest amount of his life with that brilliantly gorgeous man…..both of them. Though he did not have the pair of them now, he would always be grateful for the time they had shared.

****

John sat in his usual spot towards the back of the room in the church. He had no desire to make chitchat with the people here. He sat and looked at all the people sitting in the seats in front of him; each person happy to go on in their sad little existence. He sat and wondered what Sherlock might be able to deduce about each individual were he still alive. He scanned the backs of all their heads while the group leader began to start the meeting, the usual long haired ginger woman pressing her handkerchief to her lips, the overweight blonde chap in the front of the room and….was that Greg? The doctor’s heart jumped and started pounding furiously as he stared at the back of the silver haired man that had taken his place at the front of the room near the overweight blonde. What was Greg doing here? When the man turned to the side to whisper something in the other man’s ear John’s heart ached a little bit at the sight of the unfamiliar features. It wasn’t Greg.

“The floor is open to anyone who would like to share now.” The group leader’s voice drew his attention again. It was now or never.

With an aching heart he stood up and walked to the podium at the front of the room, trying to ignore the gaze of every person as he made his way up to speak.

Fidgeting with his fingers and staring down at the podium his voice shook. “Hello. My name is John Watson, and I am an alcoholic…..it sounds odd saying that out loud. Because I don’t think myself an alcoholic.” He let out a nervous laugh but kept on speaking. “I am 20 days sober today thanks to my wonderful sister and sponsor Clara. But today I told her not to come with me to the meeting because her being here would have made this so much harder. I usually sit in the back and listen to your stories and then go home. But…..I have been thinking a lot about the reasons why I drink and how my drinking affects those around me.” John tried desperately to keep the lump that had been growing in his throat from overtaking him.

“My dad was a drinker. My sister is a drunk, and so am I. So I guess it runs in our family. But when I drink….I am another person. The pain and heartache of life doesn’t disappear, but it numbs it to make it more bearable. But when that high comes down and the weight of it all crashes back down on me it makes me want to pick up the bottle again.”

“….Our family are not very pleasant drunk people. We have quite the temper on us when we have too much to drink….and I….I think I am the worst of all. Over the last year and a half I have lost everyone that was important to me. My best friend killed himself and it was too much to handle, the grief. So I started drinking to try and get through the day to day………my best…” choking on a sob the good doctor swallowed and wiped his hands harshly at his eyes. “The other best friend though had stayed by me during my grief. He would make sure I ate. He would clean the house. He would try and take care of me. But with the whiskey I wouldn’t let him. Instead I would throw angry harsh words in his face.” Shame flamed in John as he spoke and remembered the way he had treated Greg for those months before. Over the last few weeks sober he had never felt such disgust in himself at his actions. He had shut Greg out. He had abused him and threw him away like he was trash, and it broke his heart every day. “I would drunkenly go out and shag random women just to hurt him. I would throw things at him. He was also best friends with my mate that died. He was grieving just like me. But he would buck it up and keep going, even when he didn’t want to.  I would blame him for our friend’s death and call him a killer and a coward.” The tears no longer could be held back as John struggled to continue on with his speech. “Alcohol used to be a salve for the burn of the tragedy life had given me. But, it turned out to do more long lasting damage in the end. My name is John, I am an alcoholic and the man I am sober **_hates_** the man I have been under the influence of alcohol. I hate him and I **_never_** want to be that man again. My late friend would have been ashamed of me for what I have become.”

Without another word he walked back to his seat; scattered applause for his “bravery” dotted the air o the room as the doctor slumped down in his chair and placed his head in his hands and cried silently as he thought of how disappointed Sherlock would be in what he had become. Completely unaware of the green eyed woman who had been watching him from the very back of the room for the last three weeks.


	7. Build Me Up Buttercup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why do you build me up (build me up) Buttercup, baby  
> Just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around  
> And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby  
> When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still  
> I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin'  
> You know that I have from the start  
> So build me up (build me up) Buttercup, don't break my heart
> 
> You were my toy but I could be the boy you adore  
> If you'd just let me know (bah-dah-dah)  
> Although you're untrue, I'm attracted to you all the more  
> Why do I need you so

Alexi carefully adjusted her eyeliner with her pinky finger before she meticulously made sure each blonde hair was perfectly in place. She had had many different faces in her time working for one, James Moriarty. She had had every different color hair style or color you could think of; paired with every variance of cover stories. All with her dear Sebastian by her side; both with guns in their hands ready to take out their next unsuspecting target. That was the way they had lived for the past 15 years, side by side doing what they did best: killing.

Over the course of their careers she had come across one John Hamish Watson 3 times. The small man was like a cockroach, apparently impossible to kill. Seb had been the first to encounter him in Afghanistan. Captain John Watson had been far too inquisitive, and had earned himself one of Sebastian’s prized hollow point bullets to his shoulder causing severe damage and Seb had left him to bleed out in the desert. What a surprise it had been when Jim had called them to a public London pool where they found John Watson strapped with explosives and were told to keep their sniper rifles on him at all times until they were told otherwise. Of course the good doctor had escaped that demise from _the woman_ calling and distracting the boss from the real matter at hand, dealing with Sherlock Holmes. Sebastian had been quite displeased to see the good doctor alive and well and had made a point to let Jim now of his outrage and had demanded that he be allowed to take him out when the time came.

From there it became a huge whirlwind of being swept into Jim’s game of cat and mouse with the obnoxious consulting detective. It was all kidnapping and assassination plots, false media stories to be reported…all coming to a head on the roof of St. Barts Hospital. Jim had of course assigned John Watson to Alexi and not Seb. Seb was too close to that one, so naturally it would fall on her shoulders to take out the great lover of Sherlock Holmes. So when Jim shot himself in the face and left Sherlock with nothing to choose but to leap from the roof, Alexi set up her shot from the neighboring building and kept her eye on John Hamish Watson. She watched as the smaller man plead with the great git that was on the roof. Watched as the tears poured down his face and the heartbreak and despair began their permanent etching into the creases and lines of the ex-soldiers face as he watched the man he loved leap from the top of the building to land with a resounding crack on the pavement below leaving a puddle of blood to pool beneath his fractured skull.

Once the death certificate was signed and made public record, and after the funeral was complete herself and Sebastian were free to do as they pleased with the empire that Jim had so generously left them. Alexi and her lover had set up shop in Italy to take a holiday and reap the benefits of the different sanctions of Moriarty’s great criminal web. That was until word got to them a few months into their holiday that someone was systematically going through and taking out each and every one of Jim’s leftover gangs of criminals in cities all across Europe. Each group taken down was killed in a way far more personal than a rival or government official. So back to London it was to keep an eye on their original targets because as CAM had informed them there was only one person who would have the ambition and audacity to try and bring down the criminal web of James Moriarty, and that man was supposed to be 6 feet underground buried in a London Cemetery.

Alexi looked down to her phone to see Sebastian’s name flashing on the screen with his charming selfie he had taken before he had left of Serbia. Quickly she picked it up and placed it to her ear.

“We’ve found him. He is here in Serbia. Our people are tracking him right now as we speak. We will have him in custody by the end of the week.” Sebastian’s voice was confidant and proud on the end of the line, it caused Alexi to smile to herself. Sebastian always was one who took pride in the hard work that he did.

“Excellent! Don’t kill him straight away. He mustn’t know that we know who he is. He has stolen away my holiday. Now I’m stuck having to do my surveillance watching over this pathetic doctor instead of lying about naked with you all day.” Alexi stopped in front of the mirror in her hallway and checked her teeth. “Truly, the last four months with this doctor has been so bland. I cannot wait until I can drop this helpful, caring, and understanding nurse.” The sound of heavy knocks on the front door alerted her to her visitor. “Got to go Sebby. Let me know when you have him. The sooner we take care of this business the better.”

Without another word she hung up her mobile, put on her cheery face and opened the door.

“Hullo John!”

The good doctor was standing on her doorstep grinning from ear to ear holding out his arm to her. “Hello Mary! Ready for our lunch date?” Flashing her best charming and seductive smile at him she took his arm and locked the door behind her. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this chapter is probably shite. It started out great in my head but I'm afraid it didn't flow right when I was writing it. So I apologize for inflicting my shitty writing on all of you. I promise the next chapter will be more heartbreaking and will probably make you cry. I just felt it was important to right off the bat show to the readers that Mary is NOT a good guy. I will consistently show you Mary's true colors (or at least how they are in my headcanon for this story). Sorry again for my shite writing.


	8. Remember to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She fixes her lips they  
> Always look perfect  
> never a smudged line  
> never too much  
> I try on my blue shirt  
> she told me she liked it, once  
> she wonders what I'll wear  
> she knows just what she'll wear  
> she always wears blue  
> so, sneakers or flip flops?  
> I'm starting to panic  
> remember she asked you  
> remember to breathe  
> and everything will be okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Gasp you should! I hope you enjoy. Again, sorry for that trash chapter before this one. Lol.

Greg sighed and looked at his watch. He had about two hours before he had to meet up with Monica at some café for coffee. Over the past month or two she had been badgering him to meet up to “Catch up”. What they had to “catch up on” he had no idea. He hadn’t seen her since before Sherlock’s fall, and that meeting had gone just about as well as could be expected. It had ended in him returning to 221 B to be wrapped in the arms of Sherlock and John and being covered in kisses and reassuring words. That had been one of the best things about being with Sherlock and John; was the support they gave him throughout the divorce and afterwards. Sherlock Especially.

After their first night together Sherlock had stared deducing when Greg had seen or heard from Monica and he would swoop in and whisper reassurances in his ears. So many, _“The divorce was **not** your fault Greg. No matter what that awful hag says to you.” And “She chose to be a promiscuous tart Greg. You didn’t push her to do anything.” _Also paired with, “ _You are brilliant and loving and caring and she is wrong in every sense of the word about you.”_ It had been such a great and uplifting thing to have, especially when Monica had found out about him living with crime solving duo. She had shouted at him about being a _poof_ and then accused him of cheating on her with Sherlock since they first met each other. God how he missed Sherlock.

Carefully he turned the extra set of keys he had fished out of his pocket over in his hands. He had time. He could go to Mycroft’s and be in and out before his “meeting” with Monica. After all Mycroft had told him he had permission to enter the house anytime he needed the room. He had yet to take advantage of the government official’s generous offer…but today he would need some extra strength to get through the day….

***

John walked hand in hand with Mary as they headed towards the café that Mary had recommended. Mary. She was a godsend that is for sure. A month or two back she had approached him at the grocery mart because she recognized him from the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and had wanted to tell him how much she loved his sharing in the meeting the week before. She had been so shy and hesitant about possibly embarrassing him in the middle of the mart that she almost didn’t come up to him to talk. But once they got to talking they had hit it off right away.

She was the first person he had ever met that could read him as well as Sherlock had. It was as if she had known him for years. The first night they had had sex and she slept over John had had one of his episodes of PTSD and she handled it so well. She hadn’t been frightened or intimidated by his screaming and flailing and crying; she had simply cautiously woke him up with soft caresses and reassuring words. That had been mortifying. Having an attack, waking from the nightmares of sand and blood and hospital buildings….he had expected her to run away from him and call him a freak. What he hadn’t expected was the loving and kind words and the next two months of perfect dates with the perfect woman who seemed to understand him completely.

One night after a particularly hard day, when John wanted nothing more than to open a bottle of whiskey and down it in one sitting, she sat and listened to what he had to say. She listened to him sob and cry about Sherlock and what a great man he was and how much he loved him. She listened to him hint that he had been such a terrible person, but still refused to speak Greg’s name out loud to her; feelings as if speaking the words aloud of his misgivings would make them all real again. He still hadn’t spoken to Greg……maybe he should give him a call…..

“Ah! Here we are love!” Mary’s voice brought the good doctor out of his own thoughts and returned the bright smile to his face as he sat down at the table offered by the waitor.

***

Greg gently toweled off his hair as he stepped out of the ensuite bath that was attached to Sherlock’s room in Mycroft’s home. He had used the ridiculously expensive shampoo, conditioner and body wash that was still sitting in the luxurious shower stall in the bathroom. It smelled so much of Sherlock that the DI couldn’t resist surrounding himself in the smell of the late consulting detective as the steam had filled the air. Softly he traced the cursive “J” and “S” that melded together in the tattoo on his chest, right over his heart. The three of them had gone and gotten tattoos with each other’s initials in identical places. They had “popped his tattoo cherry” that night. John and Sherlock had insisted saying that it wasn’t fair that they had all their beautiful art when Greg had nothing and that he HAD to get one.

Glancing at the clock Greg began to hurry and get dressed. If he wasn’t careful he would be late for his meeting with Monica and she _hated_ when _anybody_ was late to anything that she had to wait for. As he buttoned up his shirt and slipped his jacket on, he made his way to the dresser and pulled out a burgundy scarf from the top drawer and reverently wrapped it around his throat. He would need every bit of Sherlock with him to get through this meeting with Monica. If only to last long enough to tell her things were over if she were trying to reignite any sort of spark.

***

“John, I don’t want you to think that I am pushing or moving too fast….but….”

John looked up from his salad into Mary’s astonishingly green eyes to the see her shyly picking at her food. She hadn’t been one to tip toe around serious subjects. She just came right out and asked most of the time. Like when she could sense that he desperately needed to drown his sorrowful feelings in whiskey and she would look at him and without warning say, _“You are better than that John. Let’s go watch telly instead. You don’t need a drink.”_

“What is it love?” John did a full stop in his brain for a moment, _when did I start calling her love? That was for Sherlock and Greg….._

 _“_ I know you enjoy staying with Clara, she is family afterall. And I know that you can’t go back to Baker Street for obvious reasons…..but would you consider moving in with me? I know its fast. But I think that there is so much that the two of us could do to help each other….so…..whatdyou think?”

John watched as she bit her lip anxiously before grinning from ear to ear and kissing her thoroughly. He knew she would know his answer from the act alone.

***

Greg walked up slowly to the café, quickly he spotted Monica where she was waving at him happily for her to come and join him when he looked a little to the left of her. Right there on the other side of the outdoor seating at the café was John Watson…..John Watson currently snogging the breath out of an adorable looking blonde woman. The DI stopped where he was and almost turned and ran away. The pain in his heart was so severe that if he hadn’t known better he would have asked someone to rush him to hospital. It was one thing to assume that John had been sleeping all around when they were still living together at 221. But this was something completely different. This was almost a year since they last saw each other.

“I ordered you a coffee. Come sit down!” Greg tried to smile at Monica as she stood up and ushered him to sit down beside her awkwardly. He chose the seat that would allow him to keep his back towards John; he didn’t need to or want to see how the couple’s lunch was going to go for them. _Happy._ He did indeed look happy. He looked ecstatic and full of life and best of all, sober.

Greg tried to pay attention as Monica began to jabber on and on about her job and the women he worked with, but could only bury his mouth and nose in the scarf wrapped around his throat. John was happy. John was sober, AND John was clearly in a relationship. He needed to pat down his jealousy and his shock of John with anyone after Sherlock. The DI hadn’t been able to even bring himself to look at anyone else the way he looked at John and Sherlock since Sherlock’s fall….how could he sit there in this café as if Sherlock never existed? How could he sit there and kiss and caress that woman’s neck?

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Monica’s clipped and annoyed tone snapped Greg back to the present, he had no idea how long he had been sitting there silently breathing in the calming scent of Sherlock. “I really think that we could come to some sort of arrangement. The sex was never the problem in our marriage. It was the work…and your extra-curricular activities outside of marriage.”

“My extra-curricular activities?!?!?” Greg’s temper snapped in that moment. Unsure if it was just Monica’s suggestion of infidelity on his part when she had shagged half of London during their marriage, or that she was proposing an arrangement at all, but it was as if the flood gates had opened. “This coming from the woman who shagged her way through London during our marriage, cheated on me the entire time and then blamed me for the marriage ending? And you want to set up some no strings attached bloody arrangement where you get laid all the time? What happened? Did you run out of men that had already fallen for your tricks?” The DI’s blood was boiling as he watched his ex-wife’s face contort in horror as he shouted at her.

“Gregory, keep your voice down. There is no need….”

“NO! THERE IS A NEED!!! You call me down here to have a ‘meeting’ with you. You propose random sex with me after almost 2 years since I have seen you. After my best mate in the world killed himself. After I had been through hell. You come here and accuse me after all this time of fucking them while we were married when you know that isn’t true! Fuck off Monica. Lose my number and don’t call me again.”

Standing up he threw a few notes onto the table and stormed off. Keeping his gaze straight ahead. He couldn’t look back and see John and his mystery woman looking at him. There was no way anyone in that café could have ignored the outburst he had just inflicted on the world. No he would go home and dive into his work til the depression would get the better of him and he would swallow his gun.

***

As John finished kissing Mary, she began telling him all her plans on moving him in with her when he caught a familiar scent on the breeze blowing gently towards him. He closed his eyes tightly to fight against the sting of tears filling them and his heart pounding in his chest.

_Sherlock Holmes is dead. There is no way that he is standing anywhere near me. There is no way that I could be smelling him right this moment._

Another breeze blew a bit stronger again and another whiff of Sherlock filled his nose and the tears began to spill over his lashes.

“John….are you alright?”

The good doctor couldn’t stop himself. He had to look. He had to see. Even with the impossibility of it all he had to look. Cautiously he turned his head to the side and caught sight of a familiar burgundy scarf. But instead of a mass of messy black curls above it, there was only brilliantly silver hair.

 _Greg…....and Monica! What in the bloody hell is Greg doing here with Monica of all people? That evil hag. She is probably trying to get her talons embedded in Greg again. He never could say no to that woman. She was so toxic to him. No doubt she is filling his mind with untrue things about himself…….just like I did……No. I get no say in this._ John fought the urge to jump up from his seat and shake the DI. He had watched that woman rip the older man to shreds, leaving nothing but an aching self-esteem and heart break. Why couldn’t he see that? Why does he ALWAYS let himself get sucked into her traps?!?!? _No. No John. You get no say. You don’t get to shake him. You don’t get to hug him close and tell him that he is worth so much more than the attention of that succubus. You sent him away. You treated him just as poorly as Monica did, if not worse. You get no say in this John._

“John?” John looked up into Mary’s sad eyes and shook his head.

“Can we leave please? I would like to go home?” John let Mary search his face for any signs of distress before she nodded and pulled out her wallet to pay. All John could do was sit and stare at his half eaten salad and think of the terrible way he had been and the things he had lost before he let himself be led lovingly away by Mary.

_Thank God for Mary. I don’t know where I’d be without her._


	9. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh mama don't walk away  
> I'm a goddam sore loser  
> I ain't too proud to stay  
> But I'm still thinking 'bout you  
> And I'm so lonesome without you  
> And I can't get you out of my mind  
> Oh mama don't leave me alone  
> with my soul sat down so tight it's like a stone cold tomb  
> Ain't it clear when I'm near you  
> I'm just dying to hear you  
> Calling my name one more time  
> Oh so don't pay no mind  
> To my watering eyes  
> Must be something in the air  
> That I'm breathing  
> Yes'n I try to ignore  
> All this blood on the floor  
> It's just this heart on my sleeve that's a bleeding"

John sipped his mug of tea slowly as he sat on the sofa of their new home they were sharing together. Technically it was Mary’s since she had been living there before he had moved in with her. It was so different from 221. 221 was organized chaos; books piled everywhere, science experiments and equipment scattered around, cigarettes and booze hidden in random places…..not like here. Here was organized. Everything had its own place. Where you had to search for the silverware once a month since Sherlock would move everything around to accommodate his need for places to store experiments, here you could find the silverware in the second drawer from the left of the stove. Books were placed neatly on the shelves behind clean glass. In short, it was the opposite of 221 in every way. Which was good in a way. It helped him not to think of Sherlock and Greg so much.

He had been living with Mary for the last month and things had been going swimmingly. They would go to work together in the morning, spend the day with patients, eat lunch together, come home and spend quiet evenings. She had been so perfectly understanding about his feelings and grieving of Sherlock. On the nights that were particularly difficult; when the doctor would wake up in tears from the heaviness in his heart and wanting nothing more than to hold Sherlock or Greg to himself Mary would sit and listen to him speak of times when he had the consulting detective by his side. She would listen to how he saved him from himself that night in the club. She would listen to him pour his heart out over his love for Sherlock and never show a hint of annoyance.

_“Sorry about this. I’m sure you are appalled that I am sitting here in bed crying about my dead boyfriend.”_

She would just smile at him and caress his check gently and say, _“John, he is a part of who you were before we met. He was someone you loved. There is no reason for me to act like that never happened. He is the reason you are who you are. I won’t ever try and make you who you aren’t. Love is about being able to accept those around you for what they are.”_

“I was thinking we could have Chinese for dinner? How does that sound?” Mary’s bright and cheerful voice announced that she was home from the shops before her smiling face poked its way into sitting room and then made her way into the kitchen as the doorbell rang. “Can you get that?”

Setting down his cup of tea he walked into the kitchen and kissed her sweetly on the cheek as the bell continued to ring.

“Go get that you.” Mary shoved him in the direction of the door as her smile grew when he smirked at her and made his way to the door.

When he opened it, he was quite surprised indeed to see Sally Donovan standing on his doorstep. She didn’t say a word, only held out the most recent papers out to him for him to take.

John took them in hand slowly, the shock of the woman he had been hating for years; making his brain slow to process what was happening. As he looked down his shock and confusion grew even more. There on the front page of the papers was the headline, “Accused Late Consulting Detective Cleared of all Charges by the New Scotland Yard” the next paper read, “Chief Super comments: It was a tragic miscommunication. One The New Scotland Yard deeply regrets.” And finally the one at the bottom of the stack read, “Kitty Riley fired and under investigation after it was found that she had fabricated evidence that she presented to the police when questioned about her article involving the late Sherlock Holmes….”

“How?” That was the only word John could think to say. _How had this all come to be? Over a year and a half later? How had Sherlock’s name been cleared? It couldn’t have been Mycroft. Mycroft would have done something sooner than this. What in the bloody hell is going on?_

“Greg.” Sally’s voice was hard as she stared at the older man in front of her. “Greg spent over six months pouring over all of the case files that he ever worked with Sherlock. He spent all his free time chasing leads, getting witness statements and alibis from anyone involved that knew Sherlock. For the past three months each and every one of his pieces of evidences has been double and triple checked by met. Gregory Lestrade is the reason that Sherlock Holmes’ name has been cleared. Gregory Lestrade almost ran himself into the ground to restore that man’s honor when it wasn’t even his fault that things came about the way they did. He almost lost his job over it. I thought you should know.”

John watched as Sally Donovan made her way down the steps of their home and into her Panda car that was parked at the curb. By the time she was gone, his brain had caught up to all the information that he had just been given. _Greg spent over the last nine months making sure that Sherlock’s name was cleared of any foul play charges and any negative press he had received….._ the good doctor pulled out his phone and went to dial the DI to ask him why he went to such lengths after the fact that Sherlock was dead. To tell him thank you and how much it meant to him that Sherlock’s name was finally clear and respected again, as well as Kitty Riley getting her comeuppance for her involvement. But when he opened his contacts he realized he had lost the majority of his contacts when he smashed his phone during his fight with Greg over a year ago. He hadn’t bothered finding it out again, and he had no idea where the man was living now…..what was he going to do?

***

As John walked to answer the door Alexi slipped her phone from her pocket where it was insistently buzzing and answered it straight away in a hushed tone.

“What?!?!”

“We got him.”

“Well it’s about bloody time!” Keeping her voice harsh and whispered she glanced out into the hallway to make sure that John wasn’t making his way back down the hallway quite yet. “You told me it would take a week to find him. It took you a month. Please tell me that you have him in custody.”

“We have him. We are starting……the fun…..tonight. We need to know who he was working with because there is no way he did all this damage on his own.”

The sound of the front door shutting and John’s heavy footsteps coming back down the hallway echoed into the kitchen. “Don’t you dare kill him without my say.” Shutting her phone quickly she plastered her bright smile back on her face and let it drop dramatically when she saw the confusion and sadness written on face of the pathetic man in front of her. Oh she had plans for John Watson. She would get her revenge on Sherlock Holmes for her wasted time and resources and leading them on a merry chase. She would take John to Serbia, she would take him to wherever Seb was holding Sherlock and he would put a bullet between his eyes and watch the consulting detective’s heart shatter.

***

“We’ve located him!”

Mycroft looked up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk as Anthea made her way into his home office.

“One of our spies in Serbia said that a man with tattoos matching those that Sherlock has was captures in the forest just outside a military facility there. He was caught last night and is being held for interrogation. If we wish to retrieve him alive we need to move now sir.” The determination in his assistant’s eyes showed the severity of the situation at hand regarding his baby brother.

“Cancel all my meetings for the next two weeks. Have Alfred take them over. We have rats to kill and Sherlock to save.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thank you to the marvelous peeps that have given me new kudos and left lovely encouraging comments! They give me life y'all have no idea! I swear when I know that you guys are enjoying this fic it helps me to write the chapters up faster. :)


	10. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't want you to leave, will you hold my hand?
> 
> Oh, won't you stay with me?  
> 'Cause you're all I need  
> This ain't love, it's clear to see  
> But darling, stay with me
> 
> Why am I so emotional?  
> No, it's not a good look, gain some self-control  
> And deep down I know this never works  
> But you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt
> 
> Oh, won't you stay with me?  
> 'Cause you're all I need  
> This ain't love, it's clear to see  
> But darling, stay with me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, life has been crazy with parent teacher conferences and what not. But this chapter has been sitting in my brain waiting until I had time to sit down and type it up for ya! Also, I wrote half of this on my kindle and my kindle is a sabotaging son of a bitch so if something looks weird or a word doesn't look right let me know. I did a read through edit and tried to catch anything but if I didn't, than my apologies! Anyways, ENJOY!!!

Another blow came painfully across his face. The smell of blood and sweat filled his nose as he attempted to catch his breath that had just been punched out of him; his lungs aching from the lack of reprieve. _Just a little while longer. Just a bit longer, I just have to stand it a little bit longer. I have to. Just a little bit longer and eventually I will be able to get back to Greg and John_.

“Ты нарушил здесь не просто так.” (You broke in here for a reason)

The soldier’s Russian echoed in the small space where Sherlock was suspended in the air by his arms, attached to chains on the wall so he couldn’t sit down or rest in anyway, as the blows continued to rain down on his head and face.

“Просто скажи мне, и вы можете спать.” (Just tell me and you can sleep.)

 _Just a little bit longer. I can stand a little more. Just a bit. Focus_. He felt his eyes begin to go fuzzy as he tried to keep a focus on the words that were being spoken and not the blood that was dripping copiously from between his lips. _How to distract him…._

“Запомнить сна?” (Remember Sleep?)

_God, it’s been ages since I had properly slept properly slept...I always sleep better with John or Greg beside me……Ah!_

Sherlock whispered softly to make sure his captor had to strain to hear his words, sputtering blood further on the hard pavement below his face as he tried to force his tongue to speak the Russian he was unpracticed in. “Вы привыкли работать на флоте , где нужно было несчастной любви .” (You used to work in the navy where you had an unhappy love affair.)

“Что он сказал?” (What did he say?)

The higher ranking man in the corner finally spoke. The man had been sitting with his feet up in the table in the shadows. His stride was different than the rest of the soldiers and commanders that had overlooked his torture. Where the others spoke commands and instructions, this one simple sat silently....til now. Sherlock listened as the soldier relayed his message before he started speaking again.

“Свет в ванной комнате не работает, и ваша жена в настоящее время спит со своим соседом , гробовщик . Если вы спешите , теперь вы можете поймать их на месте преступления .” (The light in your bathroom doesn't work properly and your wife is currently sleeping with your neighbor, the coffin maker. If you hurry now you can catch them in the act.)

“Я так и знал!” (I knew it!)

Sherlock had to hold in his sigh of relief as the soldier made a hasty exit for the door. The heavy metal 'clang' filling the air. There was still a superior in the room, one who would no doubt resume his minion’s torture and beating, and it wouldn’t do to instigate the man's wrath any further than was already done...if only he could sit down…..if only he could rest……  


“Now.” The consulting detective's eyes strained to open as his head refused to lift itself to allow him to look and see who the man was now that he had stepped out of the shadows. Only able to stare at the shiny boots on the ground in front of him _....I know that voice...._

 “Anthea, get the medics in here please and take all those into custody that have been involved.”

“Yes sir.”

“Myc….?” Sherlock felt his head growing heavy and tears filling his eyes. He had never had a very sentimental relationship with his older brother, and he had especially hated his constant surveillance in his life, but he had never been more grateful to hear the posh man's voice than be was at that very moment. Straining he tried impossibly to lift his head to look into the man's face, to make sure it was truly him. But the fire and throbbing in the wounds on his back sent a shot of pain up his spine, that radiated into his shoulders where they were being slowly pulled from his sockets as his efforts to keep himself upright failed. The lack of sleep for however long he had been chained up this time was crushing, and he could hardly keep his eyes open as his vision funneled.

“There, there brother mine. We are going to fix you up and get you back home. We have a terrorist threat and there are people who need you. Time to go home.” Mycroft's voice was unusually soft and comforting, _when had Mycroft become so soft and gentle...._.

“Home…..”

The consulting detective’s body began to slump as unconsciousness began to claim him; the trauma that had been dealt to his body over his imprisonment, that had to have been months, finally had over taken him. He began to fall, completely unaware of his brother holding his body up as to not fully dislocate his extended shoulders and cause his baby brother further pain. Completely unaware of the MI6 swarming over every inch of the abandoned military compound; making arrests of every soldier that they could find and had been involved in Sherlock’s imprisonment and torture. As the medics cut the chains that were holding the man in the air, they gingerly lowered the consulting detective’s battered body onto his side on the stretcher. They were extra careful not to put his body weight on the stitched up knife wounds and whip markings on his back that looked infected.

“Yes, darling brother, I’ve come to take you home.”

****

Slowly John opened his desk drawer and took out the tattered and repaired Polaroid of himself, Greg, and Sherlock from its place where it sat beside the engagement ring that he had bought for Mary. Some might say he was moving fast in his purchase of the particular piece of jewelry, but he had never met a person who understood him nearly as much as Sherlock had. She had saved him from himself and the black hole that he had become. They had been together for a little over four months since he had moved in with Mary, and he hadn’t been so happy since Sherlock was alive. It had been blissful happiness, filled with average everyday tasks and life; something he never had with Sherlock and Greg. Greg. John let out a long sigh as a pang of sadness filled his chest.

It was the DI’s birthday today. The good doctor fingered the taped picture thoughtfully. He had decided months ago after seeing the older man at the cafe that he could not let his birthday go by unacknowledged. If he had Greg’s address he could have sent the card he had purchased last week for him to receive, or he could have even called him if he hadn’t lost it when he smashed his phone…..he could always call the yard and talk to him…..

Carefully he picked up the phone and dialed 999 and asked the operator to connect him with the receptionist at the new Scotland Yard in the Homicide department and waited as it rang loudly in his ear. He hadn't phoned anyone from the yard since Sherlock death; he couldn't, not really. Not when he didn't trust the majority of them. Heaven help himself or anyone who might have an emergency.

“New Scotland Yard, how may I direct your call?”

Sitting up straighter in his chair he cleared his throat, “Um, yes. Could you please connect with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade?”

“Please Hold.”

John’s nerves began to stir in him as he sat on hold, his heart to racing in his chest. He hadn’t spoken to Greg in almost a year, _god, had it been that long_ … Greg’s last birthday hadn’t been a pleasant one for the poor man. It had been spent eating in tense silence with the doctor before John's temper got the better of him before he had vacated the flat and went to the pub where he had shagged some brunette woman in the toilets. Shame flooded him as he remembered his selfish and cruel actions towards the older man that night. Greg hadn't even mentioned it was his birthday, but John had known. He was the one in their trio surrendered all the birthdays, anniversaries, and special occasion dates. He knew it was Greg's birthday and had started stewing before the man had even made it back from the yard.

The DI had returned to the flat with Angelo's in hand and a weary look on his face. John didn't even know what case he had been working, but he should have been able to tell from the worry lines in the man's forehead and brow. The older man had put on a sad smile and had served up their meal and sat down to eat. The blonde man closed his eyes tightly as he remembered the way he had thrown the food across the room before he had left. Greg never deserved any of what he had given him. Greg had deserved so much more than John ha eagerly given him.

“Lestrade.”

John's breath caught in his throat. Greg’s voice was its usual tone when he was called at work, strained and stressed and often sad. He had forgotten how tense the man’s voice could be when he was working. The Yard was not someplace relaxing to be employed, especially with the imbeciles that the DI called colleagues.

“Hello?”

Tears stung the good doctor’s eyes as he listened to the familiar voice of the man he had loved and helped to protect from the hardships of the older man’s profession. Memories of late nights spent at the Yard trying to coax Greg to come home and sleep, the silver haired man fighting them every step of the way; desperate to bring justice to the world. Early mornings the doctor had spent sandwiched between Greg and Sherlock in bed. Watching as Sherlock watch and gently caress the older man’s face as he slept completely unaware due to his exhaustion. Sherlock and Greg were so similar in that way. They were so determined to bring justice and rightness to the world that the often neglected themselves and their health....Greg always looked years younger with his face relaxed in the comforting world of sleep….

“This is Detective Inspector Lestrade…………..Hello?!?!?”

Quickly John hung up the phone, no longer able to keep his emotions under control. He didn't deserve Greg's Time, and he didn't want to hear what things the DI might have to save about his calling. He hadn’t expected hearing Greg’s voice to stir up all the old feelings and memories of their happy times together. It was startling how the love and affection flooded back in, the affection and longing for the silver haired man. Every time he had thought of the silver haired man in the past year it had been with either anger or shame. Anger at the man for not doing more for Sherlock when he was alive and struggling at the end, and shame for his own lack of compassion and feeling resulting in hurting the man. God, what would he even say to him?

“Are you ready to go to lunch love?” Mary had poked her head into the room with her smile gleaming at the good doctor, completely oblivious to the struggle that John was having at the moment. Unaware of the regret and sadness that was slowly filling his heart as he looked between the card and the Polaroid. He had never told Mary about Greg. He had only opened up to her about Sherlock. His time alone with Greg had been the most regrettable of his life and he couldn't bring himself to admit his cruelty to the woman he loved.

“Actually, I have an errand I have to run during lunch.” The doctor put on his best attempt at a smile for Mary, hoping she could read in his face that he needed this time alone. He didn't want to have to explain why he was going to the new Scotland Yard on his lunch break from the clinic.

Mary, never the one to disappoint, nodded softly and kissed his forehead before saying, "You just behave yourself." And exiting the room to leave him to himself.

***

“Boss, we have a briefing with the chief in the conference room. He asked me to come and fetch you.” Greg looked up from his desk where he was putting the final signatures on the paperwork for the last case they had solved to see Sally smiling at him. It had felt good to get back to work once Sherlock’s name was clear. Finally having something to do to distract him from his grief which had been slowly subsiding. Almost two years later the pain had begun to be a dull ache in his chest that never really went away, but had become tolerable. His dinners and drinks with Molly had been so helpful, along with his visits to Sherlock’s old bedroom….which had unfortunately started to lose the strength of its scent of the consulting detective, so the DI’s visits had been fewer.

It was late and his shift was about to end, so why the Chief Super would be putting another case on his shoulders when he was supposed to go home was beyond him. He had already been at work for three days straight.

 “Coming. Just a sec.”

As he finished crossing the “t” in his last name he restacked the official papers and dropped them into his “outbox” on his desk and made his way to the conference room. The floor was mostly empty except for a few night shift workers, and the conference room was currently dark, contrary to Sally's claims of a meeting. _What the hell Donovan?_ Cautiously he opened the door and flipped in the lights to reveal the room full of his peers from both the yard and the hospital.

“SURPRISE!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!”

Cheers and claps filled the air as the silver DI walked into the conference room.

“Anderson called me and told me they were planning a surprise party for your birthday and I couldn’t really resist now could I?” Molly's smile was bright as she walked up and gave the DI a big bear hug and then thrust a bottle of beer in his hand. “He and Sally have been planning it for the last month.” The pathologist’s smile was bright and genuine as she looked around the room at the colleagues who had come together to celebrate the DI who was so dedicated to his job.

“Sorry to spring this on you Greg.” Sally walked up with a broad smile on her face as well. She had been making a diligent effort to fix the damage she had done during Sherlock’s fall. Both she and Anderson had taken point in helping to double check and verify all the information that he had gathered during his mission to clear Sherlock’s name, as well as personally giving interviews on behalf of the yard to the papers. She had also been making a great effort to change her attitude about the late consulting detective. She and Greg had finally begun to be friends again. “I just knew that you would probably just go home and do nothing to celebrate. But we wanted to celebrate because we are glad that you are here working with us.”

Greg let himself grin at her as the feeling of love and gratitude towards those around him filled his chest. Everyone had been so kind and understanding when he had returned back to work. None of them knew of what he confessed to Sally outside his flat building that night all those months ago after he had gone to the roof of Bart’s. All they had seen was his dedication and respect for a man who helped save hundreds of lives. And with the easing of his grief every day he had allowed himself to be blanketed under the love of his work family.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything Greg.” Molly nudged him gently in his side. She always knew how to settle his nerves and help to comfort him. They had been meeting at least once a week for coffee or dinner since Mycroft had been out of the country on business. She had been a godsend. “Drink up. There is tons of food and cake and presents. Everyone here is off shift so no worries about that. You just enjoy your time!”

For the next hour Greg allowed himself to be spoiled with all the food and drinks that people were pressing into his hands til it came time for presents and they forced him into the seat at the head of the conference table with his coworkers around him. He had received a new cell phone case and belt holder, a big box of chocolate truffles, three Sinatra vinyl to add to his collection as well as an Elvis album, along with three ties and a handful of cards that had been stacked to the side. He had had plenty to drink and was enjoying himself. It was the first time he and let himself feel joyful in such a setting in ages. While everyone went back to their drinks and for, chatting amongst themselves he started on the stack of cards; opening and giggling at each one til he reached the one at the bottom of the pile.

The cream colored envelope had no name on it to indicate the giver. Slowly he broke the glue that sealed it shut and pulled out the card within. The card itself had a beautiful spread of roses that littered the front, the kind that had been carefully tattooed over Sherlock shoulder in life. Inside held only careful but unforgettable handwriting that read:

             "I hope you have the happiest of birthdays. I am so very sorry."

Tears filled the DI's vision as he opened the envelope more to reveal the taped up Polaroid that was still weighing down the paper. Reverently the man held the photo he had thought he had lost over a year ago, the one picture that had captured how ridiculously happy they had once been. It was clear that John had found it at some point, destroyed it and repaired it. It didn't matter that it was torn and tattered, it was still here and he could still see the laughter in Sherlock's eyes, the wrinkle of amusement in John's eyes as they had smashed their faces together for the old fashioned selfie. John and Sherlock had always teased him and called him old man, even though he was just now turning 50, due to his love of vintage things and records.

"Are you ok?"

Sally's voice startled Greg from his thoughts as hurriedly, but carefully stuffed the photo into the card. This photo was private, it wasn't something for anyone else.

"Do you know where this card came from?"

Sally picked up the envelope and looked at the DI's name written on the front. Though Greg knew who it was from, he couldn't help but hope that John was here in the building. That he had left the woman he had seen him sniffing months before and that things had really been forgiven.

"It was given to me by reception this afternoon. I had just thought it was from her. Is it not?"

The DI couldn't help the disappointment and sadness that began to fill his chest, replacing the joyful happiness the party had brought. "No it's not.....excuse me."

Greg made for the corner of the room where the alcohol was and poured himself a shot, and another, and another. He didn't want to remember anymore. He didn't want to long for the men in his life he had lost. He didn't want to lose it in front of his fellow yarders.

"Greg!" Anderson's voice was a harsh whisper as he motioned for him to follow out of the conference room. The silver haired man followed his bearded colleague to his desk where a map was laid out across the top along with papers and articles from all over the globe.

"Greg, I know you probably will think I'm crazy.....but I believe that Sherlock is alive...."

The older man scoffed as Anderson frowned, trying to hide the pain that was steadily spreading throughout his entire being; the liquor doing nothing to dull it. "Sherlock is dead Anderson. His head smashed on the pavement outside of Bart’s. Molly identified the body.  I did the paperwork. Sherlock Holmes is dead."

Anderson squared his shoulders as he picked up the stack of papers and articles as he stood close beside the DI and flipped through each of them. "He really is! Look at each of these articles. Impossible crimes being solved, crime bosses being taken down, all done by an anonymous man making his way across Europe. It has to be him. No one else is that clever."

"He is dead Anderson."

"No! He isn't! If you would just look you see that..."

"HE IS DEAD!"

****

Molly heard Greg's raise voice above the chatter of the party and quickly made her way out the door without alerting anyone to whatever was happening on the floor. She quickly located Greg by Anderson's desk; tears in his eyes and his fist clenched at his side. _Oh dear, what had happened?_

“Greg, are you ok?” She couldn’t help but take his hand in hers. It had always done wonders of the last couple of months to ground the man and bring him back from the sad and tragic parts of his brain. “What is going on here Anderson?”

She eyed the man skeptically as he made his way to block his desk from sight. “Nothing.”

 _This does not bode well._ The woman could practically feel Greg vibrating in frustration and anger next to her.

“I’m going home."

Greg didn’t say another word as he made his way to his office, with a card clutched in his hands. Molly hurried herself off to the conference room where the rest of the party had continued to go on in the guest of honor’s absence and made excuses of how Greg had had a little too much to drink and she was going to make sure he made it home safe. She tried to ignore the drunken wolf whistles as she made her way to her dear friend’s office and found him sitting at his desk with his head in his hands.

“Come on Greg, let’s get you home.” Carefully she eased the man up out of his chair and helped him into his coat. “We will get your gifts to your flat later. I think you need to get some sleep.” Without any difficulty the DI allowed her to guide him into the cab and sat silently the entire cab ride there. Molly had been making sure to meet up with Greg regularly to make sure he was alright in Mycroft’s absence. She knew the government official was looking for Sherlock, whether he was dead now really or not no one knew. She hadn’t heard from the ginger man in some weeks. But she didn’t want to risk the older man being gone if they had managed to rescue Sherlock from wherever he was.

As the cab pulled up to the flat building Greg drunkenly threw a handful of notes at the driver and got out of the car leaving the flustered pathologist to make apologies and hurry to catch up with him.

“I don’t need a babysitter Molly.”

Greg looked at her with eyes that held such sadness she could feel her own heart breaking for the man standing before her. He was significantly thinner still than he had been in Sherlock’s life.

“I’m not here to babysit you Greg. I am here because I am your friend and I am worried about you. You were so happy and then you were so sad. What happened?”

Greg left her standing on his doorstep with the door hanging open as he made his way into his flat and began stripping his shirt off. Molly felt her cheeks beginning to burn at the sight of the man in front of her. She walked through the door and made to shut it as Greg flopped down on his couch and began staring at his ceiling as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Why did he do it?”

Molly took her place beside him on the couch, completely confused as to what was happening. The DI was not leaving much for her to make judgments off of. The last time she had seen the man so broken was on the roof of St. Bart’s and she never wanted to relive that particular evening again.

“Why did who do what?”

“Sherlock. Why did he have to leave me here alone?”

The pathologist felt her throat begin to close up as a lump began to form, her voice breaking as she spoke, “You aren’t alone Greg.”

“Yes I am. What do I have Molly? After my divorce with Monica, I had come to terms with the fact that no one would want to be with a washed up old man from the Scotland Yard. That no one would understand my life. Then John and Sherlock came and welcomed me into their life. Now look at me. John is gone and with some woman now, and I am here alone……I don’t even know why they let me in their lives anyways…..”

Molly watched as Greg idly traced the tattoo on his pectoral muscle and cried.

“Greg, you are not alone. You have so many people here who would be so sad to see you go. You are such a determined DI. You care about the people around you. That is what Sherlock loved about you. He loved your goodness. He loved your personality and the balance you brought to the world. Not to mention the fact that you are absolutely gorgeous.” Laughing she hoped it could lighten the mood of the room that had grown thick with grief. She hadn’t expected to find herself with her face between the older man’s hands and his lips pressed to hers.

It had taken a moment for the shock of the kiss to fully hit her enough for her to pull away and stop it before it went any further. She loved Greg, she truly did. But not in this way. She loved him because he was her friend and she wanted to make sure he was safe and ok for when Sherlock was able to return. She had to stop herself from sobbing as she looked into the face of the DI. His expression so completely broken as his face crumbled.

“Greg. Listen to me. You don’t want this. I know you think you do. I am here and you are so sad and so lonely. But believe me when I say that I know things will get brighter. This is not the end, and this would make things so much worse for both of us.” She cradled the man’s face in her hands as she spoke, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears that were still streaming down the tanned cheeks. “You are the most gorgeous, kind, generous, and loving man I have ever met. And I would be privileged to be with you, if I knew it was something you truly wanted. But I know it’s not is it?”

Greg let out a gasping sob. “I am so lonely Molly. Please…..I promise I won’t try anything like that again. But please…..don’t go…..please stay. I don’t want to be alone. Please stay with me?”

There was no way that Molly was going to abandon this man and leave him alone on his birthday in his misery and grief. So she gently urged him to lay his head on her shoulder and kissed his forehead and stroked his back and side gently as he sobbed into her jumper. Eventually his sobs slowed along with his breath and snores began to drift from the man’s mouth.

_Sherlock, you had better be alive. You have to come back to him. He won’t survive any other way._


	11. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes  
> (Turn and face the strain)  
> Ch-ch-Changes  
> Don't want to be a richer man  
> Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes  
> (Turn and face the strain)  
> Ch-ch-Changes  
> Just gonna have to be a different man  
> Time may change me  
> But I can't trace time
> 
> I watch the ripples change their size  
> But never leave the stream  
> Of warm impermanence and  
> So the days float through my eyes  
> But still the days seem the same  
> And these children that you spit on  
> As they try to change their worlds  
> Are immune to your consultations  
> They're quite aware of what they're going through"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. It was my kiddos october break and life has been busy.

“Enough of this hospital and healing nonsense. I need a car right now to take me to Baker Street. It has been 2 years and it’s been far too long.”

Mycroft slowly lowered the paper he had been reviewing to his desk as his younger brother strolled into his office. Sherlock was now clean shaven and tucking in his designer button up shirt. _Really, he did have such extravagant taste in clothing._ Sherlock had been on IV antibiotics and bed rest to take care of the atrocious infections he had sustained in his capture, so it wasn’t so surprising that he wanted to leave Mycroft’s home.

“Of course brother mine, but you should know that all you will find there is your possessions. Most likely covered in dust. I highly doubt Mrs. Hudson would have kept up with dusting and cleaning after you in your absence.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrow as Sherlock snorted in response. He really has no idea what he was about to learn about his past lovers does he? They had yet to speak of Doctor Watson or Detective Inspector Lestrade in the past week or so of Sherlock’s recovery. Mycroft had thought it best to give his little brother time to recuperate before unloading the vat of awful things that had happened in his absence.

“Where else would they be?” Mycroft didn’t need his younger brother to say the names of those he was referring to. “They” were the only two people in this world he loved more than anything else in this world. Hence, the “falling”.

“Sherlock, it has been 2 years. They have moved on with their lives. Many things have changed and happened in your absence. I fear you won’t find what you are looking for.  Now, if you would please sit down and….”

“Enough Mycroft!” The government official leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his lap as Sherlock winced and his chest heaved in his outburst. “It has been two years. I am going to go see the two of them. I left them alone together so they could be happy. I know you know where they are going to be tonight. So save me the speech and give me the address!”

Narrowing his eyes, Mycroft reluctantly opened his phone and checked the latest updates he had for his surveillance on John Watson, and wrote down the address for the restaurant that the good doctor had reservations at for that evening. _Fine, if Sherlock won’t listen, he must learn the hard way._

“Doctor Watson will be at this address this evening at 8 o’ clock sharp.” As he held out the address to his younger brother, the consulting detective snatched the paper from between Mycroft’s fingers like a small child would from a classmate that had something they wanted. The ginger man watched as Sherlock gently held the paper between his fingers, the look of apprehension on his face almost made the government official feel guilty.

“Sherlock. I think you and I really need to discuss the happenings that took place while you were away. Gregory and John are not the same men you left behind. Circumstances have changed, things have been…..difficult…”

“No Mycroft. I have wasted too much time here. I will find and take care of your terrorist threat. But it has been too long. So I’ll just be taking this and going now.” The government official watched his brother shove the address into his belstaff and made for the exit. “Besides, I am sure not too much has changed while I have been away. I made sure that they had each other when I left. What could have possibly changed between the two of them in my absence?”

*****

“What do you need?!?” Alexi pulled her mobile from her pocket with an exasperated sigh and answered it as she rushed into the ladies room of the restaurant.

“We have a major problem!!!!” The sound of Sebastian’s panicked voice on the other end of the line snapped the Russian woman’s attention directly to the phone call, no longer thinking about the silly little doctor she had been keeping an eye on that had plans to propose to her tonight. That had been the best part of this week. The sad little man had no idea that once he had popped the question she had a private plane all prepared to take the pair of them to Serbia where she would complete her plans of ending the great Sherlock Holmes. But if a problem had arisen, well, that just wouldn’t do would it?

Taking a deep breath she steadied herself. Seb had been having quite the difficult time keeping Sherlock in line while he was in captivity. He had attempted multiple escapes, preying on whatever useless minions Seb had rounded up. “What do you mean we have a problem?”

“What I mean is bleedin’ MI6 swarmed the place and took him! Sherlock Holmes is gone!”

Alexi felt her blood run cold as the words of her lover registered in her mind. “What…...do you mean he is GONE?!?!” She tried desperately to tamp down the panic that was steadily rising in her chest as she paced the loos back and forth and drawing the attention of the few patrons that were walking in and out. She was a professional for christ’s sake. She didn’t panic. Especially not when things didn’t go to plan. Unfortunately EVERYTHING they had was riding on this plan of ridding their pest from their world. But if it was really MI6 that had taken Sherlock from the safehouse, well then, that did create quite a few problems for them.

“What I mean is, one minute one of our men is beating and interrogating him and the next the place is swarmin’ with those british bastards. I have no idea how they found us.”

“Quickly, did they see you or know who you were?” This was a vital question to the two of them, for the answer to the question could mean life or death for both herself and Seb. If the government knew where she and Seb were there would be hell to pay from MANY different countries that would pay a pretty penny for their heads.

“No. No one knew it was me. I had been at the farm away from the compound. No one at that location knew my real name, and MI6 didn’t come snooping around the farm. We were very lucky indeed. Even luckier that Sherlock Holmes and I were never in the same place with each other. I was waiting to reveal myself til you got here with the other one.”

The pounding in her heart as she listened began to slow down. If Sherlock hadn’t seen Seb, then he had no idea who was behind his kidnapping, and they were off free til the great git decided to reveal himself to the public again. If he would. He was supposed to be dead, so what would he do? Show up and go _“Haha! Just kidding! Not dead!”?_ Highly improbable.

“Well then, come back to the London safehouse and we can rendezvous and figure out our next move. We will wait for him to reveal himself to us again. He won’t be able to resist showing himself to the world, especially if we leave enough helpful crimes for him to solve. We just have to be patient and wait. Yes?” The silence on the other end of the call was beginning to grate on her nerves. While seb was an impeccable assassin, he never did do well when plans fell through. If only the man could let go a little in life he would learn to enjoy it much more. “Trust me pet, there is nothing to worry about. Sherlock Holmes will reveal himself and when he does we will worry about it then. But I doubt that he will pop up so quickly after being in your helpful arms. So no more fretting? Right?”

There was another beat of silence before Sebastian spoke again. “Right.”

“Now be a darling and hurry back to London. I will keep Doctor Watson in my sights. I would hate for you to miss out on all the fun once that annoying bastard reveals himself. Call me when you get into town.” Without waiting for a response

 

_“Time to formulate a new plan. Good thing I have a little while to come up with something til he reveals himself to us again……”_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it s a short chapter and not what you were expecting. But I will be posting the other chapter either later tonight or tomorrow. As always, your comments and kudos give me life.


	12. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Will I always feel this way ‒  
> So empty, so estranged?
> 
> And of these cut-throat busted sunsets,  
> these cold and damp white mornings  
> I have grown weary  
> If through my cracked and dusted dime-store lips  
> I spoke these words out loud would no one hear me?  
> Lay your blouse across the chair,  
> Let fall the flowers from your hair  
> And kiss me with that country mouth so plain.  
> Outside the rain is tapping on the leaves  
> To me it sounds like they're applauding us,  
> The quiet love we've made.
> 
> Will I always feel this way  
> So empty, so estranged?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Sherlock and John reunion.

Sherlock straightened his jacket and ruffled his curls for the fifth as he walked up to the restaurant that Mycroft had provided him the address to. It had taken him a while to pick out just the right shade of suit to wear before he had confronted his brother. He wanted to look his best. He knew that he was a bit thinner than he was before he left, and that the yellow of the bruises on his face, and no longer the specimen he once was. But he knew that those things didn’t matter to Greg and John. If he were to gain 100 lbs and never solve a crime again they would still care for him. The restaurant was quite a bit out of his former lover’s pay grade so they had to be celebrating something very important for them to be there. The thought of his favorite men celebrating and smiling and being happy together brought a smile to his own face. Greg and John had always lit up the room when they were together. Each of their bright and cheeky grins always forcing a smile to his face as well. God, their laughter when they three got going; it probably drove Mrs. Hudson mad!

He immediately set his eyes to finding his Doctor and DI. He would never admit to Mycroft, but the two years he had been away he worried constantly about his two lovers. He knew that his death would be hard on them, they three loved each other so much, so of course it would be difficult. But they had each other. Which was more than he could say for himself for the past two years. He had been captured and tortured numerous times, starved for weeks at a time and beaten mercilessly. All alone.

Even though Mycroft had wanted to talk about the things that had come to pass in his absence, he didn’t want to hear it. He was already nervous that they wouldn’t accept him back into their lives, that much was a possibility after faking one’s own death. Even if it was to save the people in his life that he loved the most. He didn’t need his stupid fat brother to tell him all about how Greg and John had been happy together in his absence. He needed to see them face to face, even if they were to be angry with him and tell him to bugger off; it would be worth it just to see their faces again. To know that they really were happy and safe from the clutches of those that would have taken their lives that day two years ago.

Scanning the faces of the people at the tables of the restaurant he couldn’t find Gregory’s face anywhere. But he quickly spotted John sitting alone at a table. It was clear that the good doctor was nervous. From the way he was currently wringing his hands and checking his watch he was waiting for Greg then. Of course Greg would be late. He probably got stuck at the yard. He weighed the pros and cons to waiting for Greg or just revealing himself to John. As much as he wanted to wait for them to be together when he revealed his “not being dead” he couldn’t help the pull in his chest and the itch in his fingers to take John into his arms after months of hallucinations, to know he was really here.

Sherlock couldn’t help the grin that had split across his face as he began to make his way across the crowded establishment towards the man who had saved him from his addiction and often times from himself. His smile began to fall as he watched a short blonde woman sit herself across from the good doctor and caused the former soldier to break out in a grin of his own.Sherlock didn’t even realize his feet had carried him across the restaurant and to John’s table, and he certainly was very unaware of the fact that the two of them were staring at each other as the taller man stood in his suit beside the elegantly set table.

His breath caught in his chest as it tightened as he looked between the blonde woman and John. He had never in a million years anticipated that he would not find John and Greg together. They had been so perfect together in their polyamorous relationship, the doctor and the DI complimented each other in the best of ways. Both so very good down to their core. Doing what they know is right and standing up for what is wrong. Kind and caring. This made no sense.

It wasn’t until he realized the shorter man was currently standing while staring back at him with fury in his eyes, and the voice of the absurd blonde woman drew him back to the moment at hand. He had never seen the good doctor look so furious. If he wasn’t careful the good doctor would surely crack a tooth with the way his jaw was working angrily. In that moment the consulting detective’s mind went blank. He had never anticipated that his return would not be welcome and that another would have taken the place of both he and Greg. He had never anticipated the look of anger and betrayal that was unmistakable in John’s eyes. This whole situation was foreign to him. Normally he would defer to John on how to handle the matter. But John was currently staring at him with fists clenched and nostrils flaring.

“Long story short, not dead.”

Sherlock’s shrug and attempt at humor to defuse the incredibly tense situation was all it took to set John’s fists flying, causing them to be quickly ejected from the restaurant and staring at each other in the street. The blonde woman was now currently talking calmly into the good doctor’s ear in attempts to calm him, and doing quite a good job of it. That in and of itself was a feat. John was almost impossible to calm down once he was cross with Sherlock. That much Sherlock knew. He also knew that John was walking towards him with the blonde woman on his arm. 

“One word Sherlock. That’s all it would have taken. One word.”

Taking a deep breath Sherlock continued to press the damp napkin he had snagged from the restaurant to his nose to stop the flow of blood. The tackle to the ground had been particularly painful. He should have really waited until they were healed a bit better. But he didn’t know that John would attack him in that way, now did he?

“John, I understand you are angry with me.”

John’s dismissive snort of mockery at his words hurt far more than the strikes to his already healing face. John always eventually listened. But the look on his face…...this was something different entirely.

“....I know you are angry with me.” Sherlock continued, “But you must know there was no other way. Moriarty had snipers set on You, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. If I didn’t fake my own death they would have killed you. You couldn’t know that I was alive otherwise all of your lives would have been in danger.”

The consulting detective watched John’s nostrils flare again as he took another step towards the taller man with his fists clenched, ready to fight. But the blonde woman’s hand on his arm stopped the ex-soldier in his tracks. “Did anyone else know you were alive?” There was a new hardness in the good doctor’s tone that Sherlock could not place. He had never in their entire relationship seen John look so positively thunderous.

“Well of course he would need help in faking the whole thing wouldn’t he? He would need assistance….shutting up……”

Sherlock had to stop himself from giggling at the way that John slowly turned his head and faced this blonde woman in his way he always did that said _‘Really? You really think this is the appropriate time for you to speak, and say THAT?’_ , that was until the same look was rounded on him.

“Who else knew you were alive Sherlock? Did Greg know?”

Sherlock had never been so confused when it came to John than he was in that very moment. Why on earth would Gregory know that he was alive? Wasn’t John listening to a word that he was saying? He just told him that if he didn’t fake his death snipers would have killed both him _and_ Gregory.

“Of course not! Didn’t you just hear what I have been saying? I just got back after being brought in by Mycroft to deal with a terrorist situation. I had assumed that I would find you and Gregory here together this evening.” Sherlock couldn’t help giving the woman a once over again. _Cat Lover, Nurse, Guardian, Size 12, Bakes own bread, Tattoo, Appendix Scar, Liar………_ “Obviously I was mistaken on that assumption.”

The change in John’s demeanor at his words was alarming as he watched John’s face fill with shame and guilt glanced to his left where the woman was standing. This was all too much. It was clear that John was furious with him and severely attached to this woman. This was not the night to reveal himself. He could kill Mycroft. “Do you know where I can find Gregory, since he is obviously not joining you this evening?”

John ran his fingers through his shortly cropped hair, quite a bit shorter and greyer than he had been, but still a habit the man had when he didn’t want to talk about something. “The last time I saw him he was out with Monica.”

Dread filled Sherlock at the smaller man’s words, and he found John’s facial expression matching his own. They both knew how terrible that woman had been to Greg in the past. She nearly ruined the man with her constant abuse and infidelity. There was that look of shame again on John’s face again…… If Greg was back with Monica then there might not be anything left of him to reveal himself to. That succubus would no doubt have drained the older man of his life essence if this was true. She was the worst type of woman and terrible to the DI. “With Monica? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. You think I would forget who Monica is. I saw them together months ago at a cafe.” John had certainly become bristly and short tempered in his absence hadn’t he? This was turning out to be quite the disaster

 _“_ Do you know where I can find him or where he is living?”

The doctor shuffled his feet a bit and wiggled his fingers as he avoided Sherlock’s stare. “He and I haven’t spoken in well over a year Sherlock. I have no idea where he is living now. And I need to go home. I am starting to get a headache and I can’t talk about this anymore.”

Sherlock watched as the man he loved walked to the edge of the street and held his hand out to hail a cab; the shorter man purposefully had turned his back to him so that he couldn’t see the older man’s face. There was something very wrong about John. What in the world had happened between the doctor and the DI that would cause them to not speak for over a year?

“I’ll talk him round? Don’t you worry about that. My name is Mary by the way.” Sherlock was startled when he turned to find Mary with her hand extended to him; staring at him with a curious smile on her face. He shook her gloved hand before the woman walked away and climbed into the cab that John had been holding for them. He watched as the pair slid into place and the cab rolled away from the curb before he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed his older brother’s number and didn’t wait for the government official to start his talking. This was completely unacceptable. This was something he needed to know. This feeling of uncertainty and emptiness was going to crush him. He had to get to Greg and undo whatever damage that awful woman had inflicted on him.

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split the chapter in two to keep y'all waiting. :)


	13. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stars shining bright above you  
> Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you  
> Birds singin' in the sycamore trees  
> Dream a little dream of me
> 
> Say nighty-night and kiss me  
> Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me  
> While I'm alone and blue as can be  
> Dream a little dream of me
> 
> Stars fading but I linger on dear  
> Still craving your kiss  
> I'm longin' to linger till dawn dear  
> Just saying this
> 
> Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
> Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
> But in your dreams whatever they be  
> Dream a little dream of me
> 
> Stars shining right above you  
> Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you  
> Birds singin' in the sycamore trees  
> Dream a little dream of me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written on my saboteur of a kindle. Any spelling or grammatical errors I blame on it.

"Why are you even here Anderson?" Greg huffed in annoyance as he grabbed some milk in the refrigerated section of the market with his bearded fellow yarder following close behind. The younger man had been following him regularly; telling each new wild theory how he was sure that Sherlock Holmes wasn't dead. The most recent theory from the mad man had included a heavy snogging between Molly Hooper and the consulting detective after the pathologist had assisted Sherlock in bungee jumping from the roof. Really? Molly Hooper and Sherlock? Sherlock was the farthest thing from heterosexual, and there was no way Molly would have helped him fake his death. 

"Because you have to listen to me! He is alive. The proof is all there if you look for it." 

"Guilt." The DI shut his eyes gently as he grabbed a box of children's cereal before turning towards the other man who stopped in his tracks where he had been following; a startled and confused look filling his face. "That's what this is. It's guilt. You and Donovan were the ones who led the department on the witch hunt against Sherlock Holmes. We all drove him to suicide. He is dead, and he's staying dead. There is no amount of hoping, praying and theorizing that you can do to bring him back. Trust me. I know. Just leave it alone Phillip. Really."

The familiar crushing feeling of guilt filled Greg's chest, as it always did when he thought if the part he played in Sherlock's death. It had begun to dissipate in the past months as he buried himself in his work at the yard. Monica had continually tried to call and "hook up" over the past month or so, and usually would end the phone call quickly after a jab or two at her from the DI. Between Monica, and work he didn't have much time anymore to sit and mourn over the death of his lover. He has kept his nose to the grindstone. He hadn't been sleeping very much, but that's what happens when every time you fall asleep your dreams are filled with heartbreaking nightmares. They always started out pleasant and sweet. Then they would turn passionate and sexy, usually with John and Sherlock wrapped in each others' arms. They were always so beautiful together in bed; the brightness of their tattoos shining against the contrast of pale and tan skin, the sound of their heated breaths panting in rhythm with their thrusts. But they always ended the same way. They always ended with the pair of them starting to fade away slowly and the light and passion leaving their eyes til they disappeared all together and he would find himself standing back on the ledge of St. Barts all alone. Each time taking the step off the ledge that Molly had pulled him off of all those months ago. He would feel the wind on his face as he rushed towards the pavement below, the sensation would always bring a slight smile to his face at this point in the dream; always. And right before he would hit the pavement, the vision of Sherlock dead on the pavement below him would jolt him awake from the hell his brain had fabricated for him, leaving him sobbing in despair.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes." Anderson's voice pulled the tired detective inspectors mind away from his haunting nightmares and back to his coworker who was standing beside him at the chip and pin machine; shopping all bagged and paid for.

As he nestled the bag of groceries into the crook of his arm he shook his head. "Well it's not gonna bring it back is it?"

*******

Sherlock carefully picked the lock of the flat on the fifth floor that was apparently the current living residence of Gregory Lestrade. After a very heated discussion with his older brother he had managed to get the address from him before hanging up in him. Sherlock had never felt so much rage towards his older brother than he had the moment Jon and Mary sidestepped into their cab. He was sure the fat man had found it terribly amusing to send him to that restaurant to find the man he loved ready to propose to that woman. That had been one of the most painful moments of his life, and he had endure torture. If it had simply been Greg and John becoming engaged, that he could have been ok with, he'll even supported. But it wasn't. It was a strange woman and Greg was nowhere to be seen. He had assumed Mycroft had given him the wrong address when he had pulled up to the rundown building, but he knew Mycroft was never wrong. Why Greg would choose a part of town that was known for its danger to the London police force was baffling, especially with Baker Street available for his use. With a quick turn of his lock pick tools the door slowly freaked open to reveal a studio flat. Slowly and carefully Sherlock began to deduce.

It was clear from the made state of the bed and the lack of a human indent that it wasn't used often, while the withered and worn out couch that currently had a pillow and crocheted blanket haphazardly strewn across its cushions was regularly yes for sleep. The consulting detective peeked into the refrigerator to see it was mostly empty with the exception of a small plate of what appeared to be birthday cake; no doubt from Greg's recent birthday. There was a few bottles of water and tea stored in the stand alone cabinet that was tucked into the corner beside the sink and dish drying rack, no real food to speak of. Monica didn't reside here then. There was no way that she beast would have let Greg get away with cupboards this bare, not to mention Sherlock couldn't imagine the haughty woman making her way to the dangerous part of town. There was also no signs that anyone else lived in the flat with Greg, if you could call the way the flat spoke of the DI's habits living.

The taller man continued to make his was through the small flat, noticing boxes of case files here and there, the DI's silver vinyl record case where he kept his crooner records. The man loved his Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, Dean Martin, and all those lovely oldies. While he and John were more rock and classical music junkies, the DI was a sucker for the oldies. John used to tease the man mercilessly about it, calling the silver Fox an old man. But both John and Sherlock loved it. They loved the way the music would just light 're old man up as he swayed back and forth in the kitchen while making dinner. It was the man's rejuvenating remedy. As the consulting detective thumbed through the album's with a smile on his face he spotted the white edge if a photo sticking out of a birthday card. The handwriting unmistakable writing out a small apology accompanied by a ripped up Polaroid of the three of them.

What on earth hard happened between the doctor and DI to lead them to such a clash resulting in the destruction of a prized photograph?

*****

"Oi!" A youth dressed in dirty sweats ran up to the detective inspector as he headed up towards his flat building. The young man was actively scratching at the crook of his arm, no doubt addicted to one sort of drug or another. "There's some posh looking git that is in yer flat...and not the usual posh git. Just thought you should know." Without another word the youth ran off and into the shadows of the alley, leaving Greg with his heart racing as he pulled out his firearm to face whatever intruder had entered his home.

******

Mycroft closed his phone angrily when Sherlock again refuse to answer his mobile. The younger Holmes had called in an uproar about the good doctor Watson and his female companion and had promptly hung up after receiving the address to detectives inspector Lestrade's residence; again refusing to listen to what his older brother had to say. As soon as the line had been disconnected the government official had hopped into one of his black town cars and was speedily making his way to Southwark. Gregory had been suffering a great deal over the time of Sherlock's absence, and would often find himself seeing the brunette during his saddest of times. There was no way Sherlock would get the welcome he was expecting. Especially when one of his lovers effectively broke the other. He would need to intercept, and quickly.

*****

Greg silently made his way up the flights of stairs in the building with his gun drawn and held aloft in one hand; the other cradling the groceries in his arm. As he neared his door to his flat he noticed t wasn't fully closed. Someone was definitely in his flat. Someone who had broken in.

*****

Sherlock looked up from where he was crouched beside the box of records, Polaroid still in hand and confusion in his heart at the sound of the door being slowly pushed open. His heart nearly stopped beating as the much thinner figure of Greg Lestrade stepped foot inside the flat with his gun drawn. His hair was no longer the carefree length it once was. But instead it was cropped short close to be scalp. His pants were currently in the tightest notch available, no doubt he had lost at least 20-40 lbs if not more in the last few years. His clothes were worn out, nothing new, just the same old clothes he had always worn. But the look on the older man's face as he took on the sight before him was heart breaking. It was as if the DI didn't really see him there. 

He watched silently as the man secured his firearm and set to putting away he groceries as if his long lost, supposed to be dead, lover wasn't crouched n he living room. Sherlock watched the heavy way Greg moved his body; sluggish, like a heavy burden were wearing down his arms. Carefully the DI put away the eggs, milk, bread, and cereal before his shoulders began to shake and the soft sound of sobs wafted through the air and reached Sherlock.

"He's not really there. He's not really there. He's not really there. He's not really there. He's dead. He's dead...."

Sherlock stood up slowly and walked cautiously towards the man who was currently whispering to himself, as if the words were the only thing keeping him grounded and he had lost his mind. What happened to this man? What happened to the strong, brave, sassy and bright man he had left behind? The man who relished chasing criminals just as much as Sherlock had? The solid immovable strength? What had brought the man he loved to this point? 

Suddenly Mycroft stepped in the front door and held his hand up to still any movement. The stern look on his older brother's face was all he needed to know that this situation was definitely NOT in hand.

"Gregory?" Sherlock watched as Greg turned his head at the sound of his name passing from Mycroft's lips; tear streaks shining across his cheeks before he let his head fall down again.

"When will it stop Mycroft? When will it stop hurting every time I imagine him there? Because I can't take much more. I can't. It's too hard." Greg shook his head and started hard at the counter where his hands were balled into fists as his tears continued to splash on the work top. "I know both you and Molly say Sherlock wouldn't want me to leave.....but it's times like these that it's too much. I'm so tired of being alone."

"Gregory, I know Sherlock doesn't want you to take your own life because he is right here Gregory. Sherlock had to fake his own death to ensure the safety of yourself, Mrs. Hudson, and John Watson. Moriarty had snipers trained on all three of you. You are not hallucinating Sherlock this time. I can assure you he is real. I rescued him myself and brought him back here."

The DI's head flew up at the elder Holmes' words. It would have been comical under any other circumstances. But here, in the small one roomed flat with the man who had given him correction for his passion, was questioning his own sanity and speaking freely of suicide. It was eerie to watch the scene unfold as if unseen.

"Sherlock is dead Mycroft."

The pain in the silver haired man's voice reflected the pain the consulting detective was feeling. Lost, confused, unsure, and heart broken. It was unbearable. Without another word Sherlock stood and cautiously made his way towards where his lover stood with his back to him.

"Greg...."

Greg just shook his head and kept his back towards the resurrected form of the man he had mourned.

Sherlock continued his slow movements too he did directly behind the DI and gently wrapped his arms around him from behind. "Greg, I'm really here. You're not alone anymore. You're not alone." The DI shook with sobs as he turned around quickly and hugged the taller man close to him, clinging to him as if he were the last life line in the world, and if he were honest with himself he probably was.

Neither Sherlock or Greg noticed as the ginger haired government official silently slipped out of the flat and into the night to leave the pair alone together to slide to the kitchen floor wrapped in each other's arms. The roles of their past life now reversed, the DI wrapped in comfort in the arms of the younger man.

"Please don't leave again Sherlock? Please? I can't survive it again"

Sherlock squeezed his arms tighter as he kissed the short silver haired head, determined to help the broken man in his arms if it was the last.thing he did. His "death" brought them here so it was his responsibility to fix it. "I'm not going anywhere Greg."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in a major funk lately. Been feeling seriously triggered and struggling. So updates will sporadic (like they already aren't). Sorry I'm not consistent or regular with my updates. But thank you for taking time out of your schedule for reading my shite writing.


	14. Someone to Watch Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's a saying old says that love is blind  
> Still were often told, seek and ye shall find  
> So Im going to seek a certain lad Ive had in mind  
> Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet
> 
> Hes the big affair I cannot forget  
> Only man I ever think of with regret  
> Id like to add his initial to my monogram  
> Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?
> 
> There's a somebody Im longing to see  
> I hope that he turns out to be  
> Someone wholl watch over me  
> Im a little lamb whos lost in the wood  
> I know I could always be good  
> Someone wholl watch over me
> 
> Although he may not be the man some  
> Girls think of as handsome  
> To my heart he carries the key  
> Wont you tell him please to put on some speed  
> Follow my lead, oh, how I need  
> Someone to watch over me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My finger has healed enough for me to type again! YAY! And the crowds rejoiced! I also got rid of my writers block! So I hope you all enjoy!

Sherlock gingerly tucked the heavy duvet around his silver haired DI, since the draft in the flat was atrocious, and the last thing he wanted was for Greg to catch a cold. How the older man had been sleeping on that awful couch with nothing than a thin crocheted blanket without falling seriously ill was a wonder in and of itself. The consulting detective gently brushed his fingers across the relaxed features of the sleeping man, as he had always loved doing, and traced the deep set worry lines that hadn’t been scattered across his features before his fall. It was obvious the two years he had been away had truly taken its toll on him. The way he could feel the other man’s ribs when holding him close as he wept tears of relief at his truly being alive, was disturbing to say the least.

Nothing had gone as planned with his reveal of his not being dead. He had never expected John to react to him violently in such a way. When did John become so violent towards those he had once professed to love unconditionally? Sherlock knew that there would be some anger. But nothing to the extent that was displayed earlier in the evening. He hadn’t expected to find Greg living alone in a cold and drafty flat with no food and minimal comforts of home. He literally only had with him what little he had brought to 221 B with him when he and John had convinced the DI to move in with them.

That was another thing that was completely baffling to Sherlock. He had sat and plead with Greg to please leave this awful flat and come home with him. The way that what little light and joy in his eyes fled at the mention of returning to 221B was staggering. He had never seen the older man close in on himself the way he did at the mention of returning home.

_“I can’t Sherlock….I just….I can’t go back to 221B.”_

Everything in sherlock had screamed to press the older man as to why, especially with the intense pain that flashed across the DI’s features at the suggestion. But he could tell from the way Greg’s face contorted with uncomfortable shame that he would get no straight answers from the man. But he did know who would have the answers.

Carefully he opened the window to the tiny flat and climbed out onto the fire escape and pulled out a pack of cigarettes he had found while rifling through Greg’s apartment before he had returned home; lighting it up before he opened his mobile and hit the speed dial for his obnoxious brother’s number.

_“Hello Brother Dear. I take it our dear Gregory has finally fallen asleep. What can I do to be of assistance?”_

“I need to know what happened between Greg and John. What happened to make Greg not want to ever return to 221B with me? I can deduce that he won’t tell me even if I were to ask. I know you have your CCTV cameras everywhere to keep an eye on them and myself. So I need to know…….” Sherlock had to take a deep breath because he hated asking favors of his brother. His brother who he already owed too much to for saving him from the clutches of torture in Serbia, “…please.”

The silence that hung on the other end of the line had Sherlock’s heart pounding in his chest. Mycroft had tried to tell him more than once that things had changed between the good doctor and the DI. But, he hadn’t wanted to listen to what he had to say because there was no way that they could have changed that much in 2 years.  Though now, it was obvious that he had been so very wrong in his assumptions that the pair would have been fine in his absence.

“I will be sending you multiple video files to your phone.” There was a sadness in Mycroft’s voice that Sherlock had only heard from his older brother once before in his life, and that was when he had to tell him about Red Beard. “Do not watch the videos around Greg. But they will give you all the information you will need to know regarding what happened between Gregory Lestrade and John Watson in your absence.” Without another word the line went dead and was filled with silence as Mycroft hung up the call with his younger brother.

Within a few minutes Sherlock received several media messages from his brother’s secure line. As he finished his cigarette he opened the first file. It was the usual black and white video footage that he had associated with Mycroft’s CCTV footage, but it was of Greg walking on the street towards 221 with grief and pain written all over his face. The video switched to the interior of 221 as Greg stopped in the landing and wiping his eyes before ascending the stairs. There was no audio to the files, so there was no way to know what exactly was being said. But when the video showed the sitting room of 221B all he could see was the anguish written on John’s face while Greg stood silently by the door. In an instant John was on his feet shouting and screaming at Greg, all while Greg stood there and took each of the punches that were thrown at him from John as John shouted and beat the older man about the face and chest in rage and despair. The video went black as the two men clutched at each other and wept sliding to the floor.

Dread filled Sherlock as the video ended and he was left looking at the blank screen of his phone before opening the next file. This one started with Greg and John sitting in the sitting room again, this time John had a glass of liquid in his hand. Greg spoke, though again, he had no idea what words were spoken. But John turned towards the older man with rage filled face and threw his glass of whatever it was across the room; shattering the crystal on the plaster before he began shouting at the DI and shoving him before storming off in the direction of the bedroom leaving a bewildered looking Greg standing in shock. Sherlock felt his heart break as he watched the video of Greg sitting down on the sofa with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking with his sobs before he shook his head and wiped his eyes as he forced himself to stop his weeping and set about cleaning up the broken glass from the ground.

There were 5 more videos in his inbox and Sherlock had to stop himself to try and wrap his head around what he was watching. John was _never_ violent unless someone’s life was in danger or someone innocent was about to be hurt. John had _NEVER_ acted out in violent anger when it had been their little trio. Anger began to boil in the consulting detective’s chest as he opened the next video and watched as Greg attempted to eat a meal with John and it ended with the food thrown across the room like the glass in the previous video. But this time, Sherlock could distinctly read John’s words spoke to the DI, “It is all your fault he’s dead you know?” and it made him want to be sick as he watched the doctor storm out of the flat leaving an obviously heartbroken Greg to clean up the pieces of what was left.

As the videos went on Sherlock observed the loss in weight of both men, and the increased drinking of John. The next video was of John pressed up against a woman in a dirty alleyway behind a pub. Though it was short, it still sent a searing pain through his chest as the video cut from the alleyway to John stumbling up the stairs of 221 and purposefully kicking the coffee table in the sitting room where Greg was sleeping soundly on the couch; waking the silver haired man before making an obscene gesture and heading towards the bedroom. Each video was filled with similar abuse towards Gregory, John obviously taking out his anger and grief on the older man. By the time Sherlock had finished the next to last video of the day John kicked Greg out of the flat entirely, he was in complete shock.

John had been the protector in their relationship. It sort of fell under his role of dominant one in their trio. When one of them was hurt, stressed, sad, or anything of the sort he had taken on the role of protector, caregiver, peace maker, and lover. But these videos were not of the John he knew. They were of a bitter and angry man who clearly held no qualms over “punishing” those he felt deserved it. The John he knew would never have treated Greg the way he had, and the Greg he knew would never have taken that abuse from John during his life before the fall.

With anger running through his veins he clicked the final video, ready to watch another video of John’s cruelty. But was met with the video of Greg at St. Bart’s, walking up the pristine white staircase that he himself had climbed two years ago to meet with James, and a lump grew in his throat and tears filled his eyes. Less than 5 seconds after Greg passed through the door that led to the roof, Molly was dashing up the stairs and onto the roof as well. When the footage changed to that outside on the roof he had to do a double take to make sure that Greg was indeed in bed in the tiny flat before him. Because the site of Greg swaying on the ledge of the roof made the consulting detective’s heart almost stop. He watched on the edge of his seat as the tell-tale sign of the DI’s crying from his shaking shoulders played out on the screen while Molly carefully inched her way closer to where the silver haired man was precariously balanced. He watched helplessly as Molly spoke words he would never know and carefully, but firmly take the Detective Inspector’s hand in her own and urged him down where he allowed her to pull him close to her and cradled his head gently to her.

As the final video ended he could finally see why Gregory was hesitant to ever return to 221B. Which was understandable. Who would want to return to live in a place where for so long he put up with anger, hatred, and abuse for something that was never his fault? Sherlock battled with his reasoning. He knew that John was grieving, and that grief does terrible things to people. But, the damage that he had done with his words and actions was so severe that it was unimaginable. It had driven the most kind and generous man that he had ever known, the man who saved him from his consuming addiction, the man who gave him purpose and redirection, to move to a dangerous part of town to live in a pathetic studio flat with not a soul to lean on, and to attempt to take his own life.

Picking up the phone, he dialed Mycroft’s number again.

_“Yes, Sherlock, how can I assist you further?”_

Taking a deep breath to try and calm his voice Sherlock spoke again, “Mycroft, could you please see to it that 221 C is cleaned, painted, and remodeled as soon as possible?”

_“221 C?”_

“Yes, Mycroft. I cannot allow Gregory to live in such conditions any longer. I wish to keep him close to keep an eye on him. He should no longer have to be alone.”

Again, the phone fell silent, as it often did when Mycroft was weighing options and planning out what needed to be done.

_“Very well brother. I will have my team get started immediately and inform Mrs. Hudson of what is going to happen. It will be ready for Gregory to move into by noon tomorrow. He need only bring his personal items…..and Sherlock…..watch over him. He has been alone for as long as you have been gone.”_

Ending the call, Sherlock climbed back into the small flat and out of the cold evening air and stripped his clothing off before sliding between the sheets with the older man who had been a constant in his life for years. Carefully he wrapped himself around Gregory and buried his nose in his hair, breathing in his scent and being grateful that Molly had been there to pull him down from that ledge. If it was the last thing he did, he would protect and repair what John had broken in the DI in his absence.

 


	15. Turn Back the Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I see a smile
> 
> It's bright
> 
> as a dawn's
> 
> break of light
> 
> Is it meant for me?
> 
> This time
> 
> Can I keep it close
> 
> to warm me forever  
> Time can make the world strange
> 
> Folks you knew don't seem the same
> 
> Time don't care
> 
> It beats you there
> 
> And takes it all from you
> 
> Don't you think
> 
> Even a blink
> 
> Is safe from all you knew"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so first of all, I suck because I haven't updated this in forever. See the things is I have kids and I started school and then I started working, and I work in a tax prep office so I work A LOT from now until April. That mixed with the flu and a full time college schedule has made my life hell. Plus we have had a crazy last few months. So my apologies for being shitty and not upating enough. But I hope you will accept this chapter as an apology and a hope that I can start updating more regularly once classes end in three weeks.

Monica began to cough violently as she pulled back the dusty tarp in the storage unit she had stowed away all of Greg’s items when they had made their split. Really she should have given him his things back, but she just couldn’t bring herself to let him have anything when that twat of a “Consulting detective” outted her for her affair James. Like that twig of a man could ever understand the strain it takes on a woman who is married to a man who spends his every waking moment working or spending his time with other blokes. Ridiculous really.

Greg having the audacity to claim that she was the cause of their split made her blood boil. She wasn’t the one who let the sex go out of their marriage. She wasn’t the one staring dreamily at the rudest man in the world without a filter. To spend his free time trying to nurse that junkie back to health. She wasn’t the one who stopped putting their share into their marriage. She had given it her all. Until he stopped giving his. She had decided that she wouldn’t hang on to his shit anymore. Once he realized the mistake he had made by choosing to embarrass her in the café, he had sealed the fate of his belongings.

First things first she would get rid of this god awful reclining chair of his. It had been an eye sore to the rest of the décor in the house and she had banished it to his office. Slowly she began stacking boxes on top of the chair before dragging it out to the dumpster at the end of the row of units. _This is going to take a few trips. Why did he have so much shit?_

The next item to be dragged along was a cello case that she had never once seen her ex-husband open it in the entire time they were married. She had asked once the story behind it and he had simply told her he would explain it “another day”. Really, why keep a case, or an instrument (who knew?) that you didn’t play? He really was a ridiculous man.

By the time she had the last box in her arms and toting it to the bins she lost her footing and dropped the box. She watched as the contents (which she had never bothered to examine before) spilled onto the ground revealing multiple mementos of her marriage with Greg. Sitting down carefully on the ground she began to gather up the scattered papers and photos. The first of which was a photo of them when they were dating: Greg with his dark hair, before the stress of his job drained it of its color and turned it silver, staring at her with the most love and devotion a human could exude. She didn’t know what she was looking at in the picture, but it wasn’t Greg. The next was of them on their wedding day, fresh faced and smiling while clutching each other’s hands. How she missed the early years of their marriage; when children were still in their cards, when the job wasn’t Greg’s main focus, before consulting twats, before the affairs, before things went to shit.

Hot tears began to fill her eyes as she went through picture by picture and watched the light and love leave both of their eyes and she reached the bottom of the box where a single envelope lay. Slowly she opened it and pulled out the piece of paper that was carefully protected inside.

_“My dearest Monica, today we are going to be married. I can hardly believe that such a wonderful woman with endless amounts of love chose to marry me, an irresponsible street copper with a love for old music. You are the light of my world. You bring me happiness I never knew and am grateful every day for your patience and never ending support. Thank you for your bright smiling face and constant presence in my life. You are my rock. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you._

_Love,_

_Greg”_

The tears that had been rapidly filling her eyes spilled down her cheek as she crumpled the paper in her hands. Greg had written her that letter filled with love while he waited for her to get ready on their wedding day. He had given the letter to one of the bridesmaids to bring to you, not wanting to ruin the tradition of not seeing the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding. What had happened to them? When had the love that they had shared so strongly began to crumble and disintegrate in their hands?

She was startled out of her thoughts as a man cleared his throat. She turned around to see a man dressed in an impeccable three piece suit with his nose high in the air. She had been so caught up in her grief of a relationship lost that she hadn’t even noticed the man, or the cars that he had with him when they pulled up.

“Mrs. Lestrade?”

Hiccuping, and trying to keep her composure she held her head up, “Formerly, yes.”

“I am Mycroft Holmes, and I am here to collect Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade’s personal belongings to return to him. And since you have brought these items out to the bins, they are no longer in your possession, but public property.” The tall ginger man snapped his fingers and several men appeared and began picking up and moving all of Greg’s old things. Within a matter of minutes all of the pieces she had had of her past marriage were loaded up in a truck and leaving her with the box she still had in her hands.

“You may keep that box of items for yourself. What you may not do is contact Gregory again. Your marriage is over, and has been for some time. He has moved on and is in a better place now.” The man looked down his nose at her one last time before sniffing haughtily. “Good day ma’am.”

***

Sherlock sat patiently in Greg’s flat. The silver haired man was at work at the moment, and had refused to leave the appalling flat to return to 221 with him. The consulting detective completely understood the older man’s reasons. Who would want to come back to live in a place where you had been emotionally and mentally abused? He had also yet to hear from John, which he was fairly glad about because he was still unsure of how to handle the current situation with the doctor. He still loved the man ridiculously, and was still trying to process the fact; that the man he loved that had been married and helped save him from his life of crime and drugs, had suffered such atrocious behaviors from the other man who helped to rescue him from himself. The three of them were a triad of zen when under the right circumstances. Each playing their own role.

John had been the dominant Captain Watson he always was, keeping everyone in order and making sure everyone was well cared for. He had been especially tender and loving with Greg when they had invited him into the relationship. _“He is going to need some compassion, yeah? He just got out of a terrible divorce with a woman who told him he was useless. We have to make sure he knows he is loved and has his place.”_ John could always tell when the older man was having a difficult time and would swoop in and drag Sherlock along with him to ensure the mental and emotional wellbeing of their beloved DI.

Greg had been the pure love between the two of them. When no one else could tell how the other was feeling, Greg knew. He didn’t need to be told that Sherlock was feeling underappreciated, or the fact that Donovan and Anderson would call him ‘freak’. He always stood up to those who would speak negatively about those he loved. He was loyal beyond any measure.

“Sherlock?”

The consulting detective’s eyes began to focus to find Greg crouched down in front of him, looking extremely concerned.

“My apologies Greg, I was in my mind palace.”

The silver haired man nodded and stood, concern still etching his features, and sadness in his eyes. “I still can’t do it Sherlock. I know that’s not the answer you want to hear. But I simply can’t go back to 221B…..it’s just………too many ghosts……….too many.”

Sherlock’s heart clenched in his chest at the DI’s defeated tone. Where was the happiness that used to fill this gorgeous blessed man? He seemed to just be in a constant state of surrender, always lost……….THAT WAS IT! Carefully Sherlock walked across the shabby flat to where Greg was leaning on the counter with his head hanging; firmly the dark haired man gripped the back of his lover’s neck and turning him and embracing him in a large hug. It didn’t matter that Greg wasn’t returning the hug. This hug wasn’t about him. It was about Greg. He tightened his hold on the older man even more, lips pressed to the shortly cropped hair. “None of this is your fault. None of it. You didn’t deserve what John did to you in that flat. You didn’t deserve any of the words he spat at you. My false suicide was not your fault. You don’t ever have to set foot in 221B again if that is what you want. But I will not let you stay in this flat where at any moment someone could come in here and take you from me. That is unacceptable Gregory. You don’t have to come back to 221B. But you will be moving into 221C immediately. You will not be alone anymore. I am here, and you don’t need to carry this burden anymore.”

Sherlock felt Greg tense up as he began to speak. But the firm embrace he had on the man slowly bled the tension out of him. By the time he had finished speaking the DI was lax in his arms with the exception of his shoulders quaking with his silent sobs. Sherlock held him tight through his tremors and sniffs and tears til the older man silently nodded his head in agreement. This is what Greg had been missing the whole time. The poor man had shouldered the weight of his grief, guilt, and heartbreak all on his own with no support. No one to hold him tight when he felt alone. No one to have a kind word or sweet thought to bring him back from the depths of agonizing sadness. Sherlock knew that Greg needed this, because it was exactly what he needed the entire time he was away fighting off Moriarty’s henchmen.

Still keeping a firm grip on his shattered lover he pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialed his brother. “Mycroft? Yes, you need to send your people to come pack up Greg’s flat. He and I will be staying at a hotel this evening til you can have 221C ready for Greg’s presence.” He didn’t wait for his brother to respond before hanging up and pocketing the device again. Without once letting go of Greg he picked up the man’s coat, keys, and a few other belongings before escorting him out of the building and into the black town car waiting for them on the street below.

**

“So are you going to go see him then?”

Alexi was trying to hide the intense panic she was feeling at the moment. Sherlock was most definitely not dead, he had escaped Sebby’s clutches and now here he was. She had no idea if Sherlock knew who Seb was, who she was. If his brother had saved him, than it was only a matter of time before they were found out.

“I honestly don’t know Mary.”

“I think you should.”

She had to get John closer to Sherlock again if she were to get any sort of read on the situation.

“It’s only natural that you would want to spend time with him. He is your ex-lover dear. I’m sure your feelings for him are just as real as they were before he faked his suicide.”

She had to suppress her joy at pushing her target’s buttons as John turned and fixed her with a fierce glare that was quickly followed by sadness, and something else she just couldn’t place….was it guilt?

“This doesn’t change anything about the way I feel about you Mary. You saved me from myself when I was at my lowest point. I love you so much. He lied to me. He made me believe he had killed himself without my being able to help him in any way. I choose you. Not him.”

 _Great. He is going to play the devoted to you and not my fucking love of my life. I would never pull this type of shite with Seb._ A sweet deceptive smile in place she knew how she would need to play this.

“Of course it changes things, love. He is here. He is back. He is alive and you still love him. You can choose to stay with me, but don’t let a wonderful friendship you had thought was lost stay lost due to pride.”

“Pride? It’s not my pride. It is a matter of trust. He lied to me. He deceived me. You have never lied to me in our whole time of being with each other. You have been honest with me about your family’s deaths, your struggles growing up, all of it. And you have loved me despite my own shortcomings. It is not a competition between the two of you. I will still have to think on whether or not I want to be friends with him even……”

_I think it is time for a little sedative for you John, so I can figure out what the fuck is going on with Seb and this whole mess._

Patting his hand she smiled and stood up. “You look tired love. Let me make you some calming tea and you can have a lie down? How’s that sound?”

The little man nodded at her before she walked out of the room, rolling her eyes as soon as her face was no longer in view. This had been so exhausting and was about to get even more so. If John was going to act like a kicked puppy she would be spending half her time trying to reassure him so he wouldn’t get suspicious. She leaned against the counter as the kettle boiled beside her and she emptied a vial of powder into the bottom of the mug before dropping the tea bag as well. This would work fairly quickly, giving her time to talk to Seb about this giant clusterfuck he had gotten them into.

**

Alexi had sounded absolutely livid on the phone. This was not going to go well of Seb. He had been hiding out in a safe house in the country since the raid. He had no idea who might be after him and he couldn’t go anywhere near Alexi yet.

The sound of his mobile echoing through the air startled him as he picked up the phone. Moriarty had made him nervous, but Alexi terrified him. James had been highly intelligent. But he needed others to do the hard work. Alexi was highly intelligent, and fucking dangerous. She could kill anyone in the blink of an eye. _Anyone._

“Oh Sebby, I found what you lost.”

Sebastian let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he heard her words. She had found him. Thank Christ.

“Thank Christ. So you killed him then?”

The silence on the other end of the line kicked his heart rate back up again as dread filled him.

“…No. I have not. He is alive and well and under the careful eye of his big brother. So now, thanks to your fuck up I am having to try and assess the situation on what they might know of me…..So tell me, Sebastian dear, What clues did you and your idiotic men leave behind that I might need to be concerned about?”

The sniper swallowed as he racked his brain for any things he might have left behind……

“……nothing…….we left nothing…….”

“…………………………………….for your sake I do hope so Sebby. If I find out that you left one iota of evidence to lead this mess back to me, do not doubt the fact that I will have you killed.”

The line went dead, and the sniper began to hope to god there was nothing left to lead them back to the pair of them. Because that would be absolutely tragic for him.

 


	16. Cherry Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her eyes and words are so icy  
> Oh but she burns  
> Like rum on the fire  
> Hot and fast and angry  
> As she can be  
> I walk my days on a wire
> 
> It looks ugly, but it's clean  
> Oh mamma, don't fuss over me
> 
> [Chorus:]  
> The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine  
> Open hand or closed fist would be fine  
> The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
> 
> Calls of guilty thrown at me  
> All while she stains  
> The sheets of some other  
> Thrown at me so powerfully  
> Just like she throws with the arm of her brother
> 
> But I want it, it's a crime  
> That she's not around most of the time
> 
> [Chorus:]  
> Way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine  
> Open hand or closed fist would be fine  
> The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
> 
> Her fight and fury is fiery  
> Oh but she loves  
> Like sleep to the freezing  
> Sweet and right and merciful  
> I'm all but washed  
> In the tide of her breathing
> 
> And it's worth it, it's divine  
> I have this some of the time
> 
> [Chorus:]  
> Way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine  
> Open hand or closed fist would be fine  
> The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

Greg plopped himself down on the ridiculously expensive sofa that Mycroft had put in 221C as he ran his hand over his tired face. He hadn’t wanted to move into 221 Baker Street. There were so many horrible memories in this place. It felt impossible to even see the good ones through the bad. So many months of guilt and sorrow that had filled the building after Sherlock’s sacrifice. He had been having the most difficult time sleeping since he had moved into the basement apartment. It was often so quiet that it was deafening. With the silence came the whirlwind of thoughts and insecurities he was feeling.

Sherlock had yet to bring up John to him, in fact he hadn't even uttered the doctor’s name since they had returned to 221. It was a relief as much as it was crushing. Sherlock hadn’t said if he had had any further contact with the shorter man, or if he had any sort of idea what had transpired in his absence. He suspected that Mycroft had given him a portion of the story, as the consulting detective had stepped up and been a complete support to the older man during his transition of homes.

It honestly felt good to be out of the manky and dangerous part of London, but he didn't feel like he deserved or needed to be in this place again. He understood the concern of those in his life. But he still felt he deserved punishment for his lacking of the strength to put his lovers before his career. It was the same reason his marriage with Monica had crumbled to dust. He had been so eager and keen to be a copper that he worked hard long hours to get it. But in doing so he had left his wife alone to burden her loneliness on her own as well.

He shook his head before standing up and shrugging off his coat and tossing it across the room to the chair in the corner of the room. Now was not the time to think of all the ways he had failed his marriage and relationship with John and Sherlock. Now was the time to try and relax after his day at work, He and Donovan had been working on a case together and they were getting closer and closer to a conclusion that he could feel it. But Sherlock had insisted that he not kill himself working overtime. You know what would help to get my mind off of things? A glass of wine and some Sinatra and Dean Martin. So he set off to find where Mycroft’s goons had stashed his collection of records.

He walked into the kitchen and opened a bottle cherry wine that had been placed in the cabinet beside the refrigerator when Mycroft’s people had stocked his new kitchen with enough food to feed a small army. It was a good thing that most of the items were non-perishables so they would last longer, because odds were he wouldst be eating much. His anxiety disorder he had developed over the last three years had taken care of that. He hardly had an appetite anymore. Pouring himself a glass, he made his way to the most logical place his records would be stashed, the closet.

The room had a good deal of coats and suit jackets hung neatly in a row, along with one of Sherlock’s long trench coats. Of which, he saw the slight silver that he assumed was his album box. As he pushed the trenchcoat his breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on his most treasured item he had in his life. Gently, he took the the leather case in his hands and carried it to his sitting room, record case forgotten. He had just assumed that Monica had chucked it when they split all those years ago. He had never opened it in her presence, or anyone’s for that matter. No one knew of its existence.

Carefully he took the polished wooden instrument from its case and ran his hand over his old friend. He had always understood Sherlock’s connection with his violin, and had respected it. Oh how he had missed it. He hadn’t touched this piece of his history in over thirty years. He had locked it away with the piece of himself that was heartbroken. Slowly he plucked the strings, wincing at how out of tune they were before tuning them til they sung like angels, and he rosined up his bow.

*****

“So, how is the Detective Inspector adjusting to life back at Baker Street?”

Sherlock glared at his elder brother as the fatter man slowly lowered himself into Sherlock’s sitting chair. He knew that Sherlock hated it when he sat in his chair. But it was better than him sitting in John’s chair. John’s chair was for John, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to see John sitting there either. He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that one of his lovers had viciously abused the other in his absence and what it meant for their future. Everytime he thought of the footage he had seen his heart broke as his blood boiled. It was not like his doctor to behave this way, but as Mycroft had said, “Circumstances change when different elements are introduced.”

As grateful as he was to Mycroft for watching over Greg during his absence, but his elder brother had remained tight lipped about whatever the extent of the events were. He accompanied his refusal of information along with the insistence that he speak with those directly involved to get the whole story, and that was the only way he would find the truth behind it all.

“He is…..adjusting.”

That was the truth, but not the whole truth. Upon their arrival back at 221 it took nearly 20 minutes before he could convince Greg to enter the building. He had just stood on the pavement outside, staring at his feet as his heart raced, he knew this of course from taking the man’s pulse when he became temporarily unresponsive. It was glaring obvious that the street and building was indeed a trigger for the older man. Burt Sherlock was sure that with time, he could help Greg to find the happiness and joy they once had here. Whether with John or not. He would never blame Greg if he never wanted to see the doctor again. Mycroft’s low hum snapped Sherlock from his mind palace that he was beginning to retreat to.

“Well, naturally, it will take time for him to grow accustomed to his new environment. When you spend your days in the parts of London most people wouldn’t set foot in, it tends to take some adjusting….have you spoken with Doctor Watson yet?”

Sherlock pursed his lips and raised a daring eyebrow at his brother, causing the elder to let out an exasperated sigh. It was clear that Mycroft didn’t approve of Sherlock’s approach to the situation. No words were needed to be said, that much was clear as Mycroft stood without warning again and straightened his waist coat and brushed off his shoulder as the sound of low resonating music wafted its way through the air of 221B.

“Ah!” Sherlock was alarmed at the speed a grin spread across his ginger brother’s face before being toned down to a light smirk. “I see Gregory found the gift I left for him.” Picking up his brolly and strolling out the door and down the stairs to the black town car waiting for him.

Sherlock strained his ears as he listened to the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPY7xL1JItQ) that was slowly filling the air, and began following it down the stairs towards 221C. He wondered if Mycroft had simply gifted Greg with a new record to play in his new space….but the music was too sad to be something that someone would give to a grieving abused man. _Is that Bach’s cello suite…….Number…...5?_ It sounded like a different variation of Bach though, not the usual versions of the particular piece of music…..it sounded more…..mournful…..more tragic. Letting curiosity get the better of him he pulled his lockpick set from his dressing gown pocket and dropped to his knees to pick the lock of his former lover’s flat.

What he found as he slowly opened the door he was not prepared for. There sitting with his shoes off and the most beautiful cello the consulting detective had ever laid eyes on between his thighs sat Greg. His eyes closed as he swayed and moved with the instrument as his fingers flew over the strings as he drew his bow expertly over the strings with skill that he had yet to witness in anyone besides himself. He stood in silent shock as the piece of music took a darker turn and tears began to slowly stream down the silver haired man’s face. He played with such passion and feeling that it was impossible not to feel the sadness and heartache being conveyed through this gorgeous instrument..

In a second, the tone of the music turned from tragic to almost angry, the older man harshly running the horse hair over the strings, his brow furrowed with intense concentration as he continued to let the music flow through him and out into the air. As the music once again turned tragic it diminished in volume until Greg was no longer playing, but clutching the instrument in his hands, as a drowning man would clutch a piece of driftwood; panting heavily as the tears continued to slowly stream down his cheeks, causing his shoulders to shake. It wasn’t until he felt the wetness on his collar that he realized he too was crying, unknowingly have been moved by the most beautiful and sad music.

“.....Greg…” Sherlock could barely get the man’s name to pass his lips as a lump grew in his throat, constricting his own breathing.

Quickly the older man’s head snapped up. now realizing that he was not as alone as he had thought. In a flash he had the cello and the bow put away in the old worn leather case before slamming it shut and stalking towards the consulting detective with a look of fury in his eyes. Before the taller man knew it he was being shoved forcibly from the flat.

“Is there NOWHERE I can have any sort of privacy? Fuck off!”

Sherlock stood puzzled as he stared at the now slammed and bolted shut door. He had never expected Greg to react in such a way. True, he had invaded the privacy of the man's new home without alerting him of such. But the look of hurt and betrayal in his eyes was something he couldn't stand.

*******

Slowly Greg allowed himself to slide down the door to his flat as his heart raced. His cello had been something private that he had shared with no one. Played for no one, except her. Pressing his fist against his forehead he fought with the impending panic attack and anger that had begun to fill his chest before he let himself cry. He shouldn't have treated Sherlock that way. He was just being Sherlock. The man had no real sense of privacy and personal space. He just did what he pleased, when he pleased. He heard the front door open and close to the building as Sherlock left. He knew it couldn't be Mrs Hudson, because she was currently visiting her sister.

_Great. Now I've upset him enough to run off and leave as well. I'm such a twat._

He sat and stared at the case that now laid strewn on the floor in his hurry as he contemplated whether or not he could share this dark part of his past with the one human left in this world who cared enough to take him out of his dangerous flat and bring him to the safety of what used to be their home. Who had put no pressure on him whatsoever to expedite his own processing of the situation they were in. He dropped his head in his hands.

_I shouldn't have gotten so angry at him. Of course he was going to pick the lock. He was curious, and a curious Sherlock often forgot his boundries. If he had just take the time to explain to him that it was a private thing that he didn't want to share with anyone......._

He was startled out of his thoughts as he heard a soft knock on the door he was currently leaning against. Glancing at the clock he hadn't realized he had been sitting there in silence with his head in his hands for the last 30 minutes. Slowly he stood to his feet, he felt so exhausted. so emotionally drained....

".....Greg?" The silver haired man paused with his hand on the door knob as he heard the voice of the very lanky git on the other side of the wood. "....Greg....I would like to....apologize It wasn't right of me to pick your lock and invade your space designated for you....Please open the door."

 

Before Sherlock could finish his sentence Greg had opened the door to see him standing there with takeaway in his hand, and a mournful look on his face.

"I'm sorry I snapped. I think there are somethings I need to tell you."

The DI left the door open as he made his way back to the sofa and sat down heavily on it and stared at the cello on the ground.

"This instrument....is very special to me. I have never shown it to anyone and never even played it for Monica...." he took a deep breath, but still refused to look at Sherlock beside him. "This cello was given to me by my mother. She was a brilliant musician. Her whole family were brilliant. When I was just a wee thing she pulled me aside and said,  _'cher couer, music is what cleanses the soul, what gives us life. What allows us to express that which our souls are not capable of expressing through our words. With this instrument you will do great things.'_ That was the beginning. I was 4. She began lessons the next day. She made it so much fun for me at that age, she had such an amazing amount of patience, teaching me the positions of my fingers, correcting my stance, always with love. She would play along with me on the piano. Others found my playing to be so exceptional that I had been given opportunities to attend some of the top musical universities in Europe." Greg had to stop as the tears in his eyes made his voice thick with emotions. "...then she fell ill. She slowly began to deteriorate in health.....cancer......but they couldn't cure it. So I would sit by her bed in our home and play for her. Bach was her favorite, that and Tchaikovsky. When she finally left us I put my cello into that case and never opened it again."

"Everyone thought I was throwing away my life and my chance at music. But I didn't care. My maman was the only one that could encourage me. She was the one who lit the fire in me. So, instead of coninuing on...I threw myself into rugby. I was determined to run and beat the grief out of me. So I took it with me everywhere with me, never opening it, Never playing....til now." Greg took a moment to take a deep breath before turning and facing his dark angel. "I am sorry that I lost my temper. You didn't know....it's just that this.....it was something so private to me that I was shocked, and angry that I had let my guard down enough for anyone to see this sacred part of me."

Greg felt his eyes filling hot with tears and his face red with shame again. He hated how much he had wept over the last three years. He felt weak and vulnerable, and he didn't know what to say or think....when a long slender fingered hand covered his and squeezed.

"I understand. I should not have entered without permission. This is supposed to be your space free from the drama and upset. I should be the one apologizing to you. That's what this was," Sherlock motioned to the takeaway he had set on the coffee table. "I am sorry. I will allow you your privacy whenever you need it. Do not hesitate to tell me you need this space as your sanctuary." Gently cupid bow lips pressed against his shortly cropped hair before patting and squeezing his shoulder and rising to leave the flat. Greg couldn't bring himself to stop him, or even to get up to let him out. The night's events had drained every ounce of energy he had left and he didn't know how much more he could take. He just watched as the taller man strode to the door before pausing and turning back.

"I know that this is private and painful for you. But I find that music is a good purge for the dark that dwells deep within us. Don't let the darkness consume you. When you are feeling your darkest, weakest, lost or anxious, that instrument can be your savior. Don't turn your back on that please, Greg. Goodnight, and don't forget to eat please." The door shut with a soft click and Greg reached for the single serving takeaway box.  _Of course he would get a single serving. He knows how much I will really eat._ As he opened the box he had to fight the urge to put it down. He stared at the Chicken Pad Thai that was plated up before him. The last meal he ate with John.  _If Sherlock knew, he would have never got this for me....he can't know....not ever._ With all the effort and motivation he could muster he managed to down half the container before he couldn't take another bite and curled up under the covers and wished for things to be different than they were. Wishing that they could put things back to the way they were before this whole nightmare had began.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm really tired and wrote this while really tired. Soooooo if it was completely shitty or choppy or just complete rubbish, I apologize. If you enjoyed it, thank you. :)


	17. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut  
> My weakness is that I care too much  
> And my scars remind me that the past is real  
> I tear my heart open just to feel  
> I'm drunk and I'm feeling down  
> And I just wanna be alone  
> I'm pissed 'cuz you came around  
> Why don't you just go home?  
> 'Cuz you channelled all your pain  
> And I can't help you fix yourself  
> You're making me insane  
> All I can say is  
> I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut  
> And my weakness is that I care too much  
> And our scars remind us that the past is real  
> I tear my heart open just to feel  
> I tried to help you once  
> Against my own advice  
> I saw you going down  
> But you never realized  
> That you're drowning in the water  
> So I offered you my hand  
> Compassion's in my nature  
> Tonight is our last stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo life has been totally crazy. I have gained and lost a couple of jobs. Dealt with my crazy MIL visiting twice. My crazy ass sister in law causing me migraines left and right. We have gone through the kids getting lice, our entire family getting the norovirus and all of us wanting to die because when I got fired I lost my insurance. And my depression and anxiety have ripped through me like its no one's business.
> 
> BUT I managed to get my writing flow back and am here to to present you with the next chapter of this installment. 
> 
> Enjoy my lovies!

“This has got to stop.”

John kept his face hidden in his hands to avoid the look of amusement and irritation that was on Mary’s face. She had been able to calm down the elderly man he had just assaulted and convinced him that there was no need to involve the Scotland Yard in the matter. He could not even imagine the scuffle that would start since he knew just about most of the individuals that worked at the yard from his time with Sherlock, not to mention Greg. It couldn’t have been too difficult considering the older man was trying to pedal pirated items. But still, this was more than a bit not good. He had been so paranoid since the night that Sherlock had revealed himself as “not dead”.

“You have to go see him.”

Letting out a sigh he looked up into the sweet face of the only person he felt he could trust in the world. When he had told her that she was the one he chose he had meant it. It hurt him deep inside, but Mary had been there through the turmoil of his demons that had been awaken in Sherlock’s “suicide”, and now that the git had shown up and expected things to be alright made it all the more difficult. He wanted to see him, a part deep down inside of him would always want to see him, be with him, but that was not an option any more. Things could never go back to the way they were. The damage had been done. The dice had been cast and no one could take it back.

Raising her hands in the air she continued, “I know you are still angry. But maybe that is why you need to go see him. You didn’t necessarily let him explain himself to you that night. We sort of rushed off. But we cannot keep going through our day to day waiting for him to pop up and surprise you, though I don’t think he will.”

John sat in silence as he thought about what Mary was suggesting. Could she really be suggesting that he go to 221 and confront Sherlock about how upset and angry he was? _Perhaps it would be good to get it all out of the way. Lay it all out on the line and let Sherlock know how I feel. Let him know that I chose Mary. That way there leaves no room for anything but the reality of the situation. He can either choose to respect it or not be in my life._

“I think you might be right….as usual.” He had a sinking feeling in his gut as he said the words. He knew that this could end terribly. Sherlock could definitely have a temper that rivaled his own. The visit could very well turn into a shouting match. But he had to do it, if only to ease Mary’s mind. Mary. He let the smirk grow over his face to try and keep his own anxieties from spilling out of his mouth. Better to joke and smile than to think of how potentially damaging the conversations to come with Sherlock. He never did well with understanding the emotions of others, being the selfish tart he was. Dropping a kiss on Mary’s cheek he pulled his coat on. “I need to deal with this head on so we can get on with our lives. Right?”

“Of course, dear. Now. Off you go.”

 

********

 

Greg pulled on his overcoat on as quietly as he could. He knew that Sherlock was probably in his mind palace trying to figure out the terrorist situation that Mycroft had brought him back for, though he really didn’t believe that. Sure, the ginger man needed Sherlock’s help. But he knew the real reason why was because the younger Holmes would have died without intervention.

The DI had seen Sherlock’s wounds and had helped to treat them since his return, the freshest being about ten minutes prior. The deep angry blues and purples of the bruises scattered over his pale flesh had begun to turn sickly shades of green and yellow. A sign of healing, but still grotesquely painful to look at, and still very difficult to treat. When he thought of all the torture that the younger man had been forced to endure just for his safety sent guilt running through his veins. 

Sherlock had been ever so gentle and loving with him since his return and continually was telling him that it was not his doing but Moriarty’s. No one could have controlled or changed the course of events that brought them to that fateful day when he jumped.

He had sat and listened to every word that Sherlock had to say, not once interrupting him as tears streamed down his face as he listened to all of the lonely and dangerous details of the time they had spent apart. He could hold no grudge against the younger man. He had done what he needed to do and had returned, though barely. He could only be happy that he was alive and definitely NOT dead. He had also been amazed at the fact that Sherlock had been surprisingly accepting and supportive of the fact that he didn’t want to spend any time in 221B. He never pushed. Never asked. Just accepted it. Probably had to do with Mycroft. No doubt the british government had informed him of the arguments that had led to John kicking him out. But it didn’t matter. That was in the past and it was time to start moving forward.

“Yoohooo!”

Greg shut his eyes and forced a smile as he turned and was met with the sight of his landlady walking towards him with a bag in hand.

“Take this with you, dearie. I couldn’t sleep last night so I made some biscuits and scones. I was about to run some up to Sherlock and heard you getting ready to leave. You really have become far too skinny.” The DI sighed internally. He couldn’t be too irritated with the older woman. She was allowing him to stay in 221C even though Mycroft and Sherlock had people swoop in disturbing her day and inconveniencing her.

He let her pat his cheek and give him the same sad look she always did when she caught him alone before smiling and wishing her a good morning. She stared at his face for a moment longer than usual before patting him once more and making her way back into her flat. She really was a sweet old lady and it was never a burden to listen to her chat away at him. It felt nice, having her just talk and talk and talk and never need him to fill the conversation in any real way other than _“Really?”_ and “ _That’s just lovely!”_ To have her expect nothing of him other than a smile and politeness. She had made things seem less awkward in returning to 221. She had not said anything to him regarding John or what had transpired about her flat for so many months.

As he wrapped his scarf around his neck he could smell the delicious scones in the bag that he was holding. Lemon Blueberry, his favorite. Perhaps he could use some baked goods. It had been quite a while since he had enjoyed her home baked treats.

The buzz of his phone from his pocket stopped him from reaching into the bag, instead stealing away his attention as he flipped it open.

“Lestrade”

“Boss, we have a lead on the Smithee case. I need you to get down here right away.”

Greg buttoned his coat around him quickly. “I’ll be right there.”

*****

Sherlock sat in silence as he thought about what was to come. He had been out investigating the terrorist case with Molly the day before when she had gone ghostly white at his questioning how things came to be in his absence.

 _“It was quite terrible Sherlock. I don’t think you really understand how badly they were hurt by your death. It shook them to their cores.”_ It had been with tears filling her eyes that she had spoke. _“It tested their sanity, and in the end it ended up breaking them both. John was devastated. Greg was devastated as well, especially since the yard forced him to come down and take my report from me about your death and your autopsy and my identifying your body.”_ Her loving and caring nature making her heart ache in ways that were obvious to more than just Sherlock. She had to take a moment to calm herself before she could continue her words. _“I had to pull Greg down off of that ledge. I had to follow him and watch as he wept swaying drunkenly on that ledge. He almost did not make it Sherlock. Both of them were almost lost. If it weren’t for Mycroft and Greg diligently looking after John he would have been gone in the short months after. And if it weren’t for Greg your name would never have been cleared and John would have drowned in alcohol. It was bad Sherlock. So bad.”_

The pain that had shot through Sherlock at her words was electric and unstoppable. Mycroft had not relayed any of that information to him, and Greg would not have told him either. The man was still broken and trying to repair himself. He had never expected his faked death to have such a profound effect on the two men. He had been so certain they would have leaned on each other for comfort.

_“I will never lie for you again Sherlock. Not to them.”_

When he had broken away from his own thoughts and looked back up at Molly her face was streaked with tears, but set and determined. His own heart ached as he looked at her, a feeling he was well used to but able to hide. He had hurt so many people with his suicide. So many. It was time to heal what had been broken and to accept whatever would come his way. If he had to live his life alone and away from those he loved to keep them safer and happier, he would. Their happiness and life were more important than anything else. He could never make Molly betray her conscious like that again, and he was sure that she would never allow it again either. There was much still to do.

***

John slowed as he approached 221B, his anxiety starting to build as he walked. He was starting to regret telling Mary he would talk to Sherlock. She would know if he came back and lied. He had to stop himself fully to keep from running away. He just stood there staring at the door in the distance beside the red canopy of Speedy’s Café. He could do this. He could go and tell Sherlock how he was feeling right? Taking a few breaths to calm his anxiety of returning to the apartment where so much anger and sadness had been felt and expressed in that place.

He began to move forward slowly again, telling himself that things would be fine and that he would feel better once he got all his feelings out, until the door opened. He quickly jumped into a neighboring shop’s door way and watched as a figure left through the brilliant black door. It was not Sherlock, too short, with silver hair……..Greg. So Greg was now aware that Sherlock was back. Was he living with Sherlock back in 221B? Had he told Sherlock all about what had been hashed between the two of them? What would Sherlock think? Maybe today is not a good day to talk to Sherlock. Maybe Greg had told him everything and that was why he hadn’t made any efforts to contact him again since his return. He watched as Greg ducked into his car and drove away from 221B.

 _“Pull it together Watson, you’ve gone to war. You were a soldier on the front lines saving lives. You can do this. Besides, Greg was with Monica. You saw them together.”_ Taking a deep breath he walked up to the door he had not visited in what felt like ages. The door handle was cold under his hands as he turned it slowly being as quiet as possible. He did not want to run in to Mrs. Hudson. Lovely a woman that she was he needed to get this over with so he could stop looking over his shoulder everytime he left the house.

As he stood in the landing emotions began to flood him. 221 had not changed much since he had last been there. It smelled of Mrs. Hudson’s baking and of cigarette smoke. Seems that Sherlock had taken back up smoking since he highly doubted that Mrs. Hudson would be smoking. He slowly walked up the stairs towards 221B, the familiar scent of home making his heart swell and ache. So many memories were had in this place. Some with just himself and Sherlock, and some of their trio. Arguments, Passion, Sadness…..all of it. They had been the best years of his life, until they weren’t.

As he approached the door he noticed it was sitting ajar slightly. Still keeping his footsteps silent he pushed the door open slightly to see inside and was taken aback by the sight before him. There standing in the middle of the sitting room facing the opposite direction was Sherlock in nothing but a pair of trousers his pale flesh exposed. He couldn’t help the whimper and gasp of breath that escaped him as he took in the broken flesh before him. The glorious tattoo of dark wings was now littered with wounds, the flesh purple in some places while being green and yellow in others. Scars both new and old scattered all around. One in particular looked angry and pink with inflammation. His throat began to swell as he continued to stare. The gorgeous smooth pale skin had been a work of art, a canvas of beauty, now mangled and broken.

He had been in battle and treated enough men who had been tortured to know, unfortunately, what caused most of the wounds. There looked to be mostly whip marks covering his back, scars both old and new, meaning he had been tortured not once, but multiple times. What looked to be a blade cut across his shoulder as well as cigarette burns filling in some of the extra space of skin that had not been marred. It was horrific thought to behold.

“Do come in John, no need to linger in the doorway.”

The deep baritone of Sherlock’s voice shook him from his thoughts and caused him to walk in and shut the door behind him. Once the door was shut firmly behind him he took in the room around him. The same as it was before, still dusty, still cluttered, but the wall was now covered in a great deal of photos and news clippings about random individuals. It had to do with whatever Mycroft must have brought Sherlock back for. He couldn’t help the anger he felt as he stared at the battered man in front of him that was far too thin and beaten to be standing, why hadn’t Mycroft brought him back sooner? Why was he hurt so?

“Mycroft could not have done anything more than he had to bring me back. I was captured and off the grid. It took him 4 months before he could even get a lead on where I was. Which of course makes sense since the individuals that had me were not only clever, but strong.”

 _How does he do that? Knowing what I am thinking._ “One of those wounds looks like it is infected. Have you had anyone look at it?” John could hear the worry and sadness that was in his voice as he expressed his concern, his heart was twisting in his chest the longer he stared. By the looks of the wounds they have been there for quite some time, which means they had been there the night that Sherlock revealed himself to John and Mary. Which meant that they were there when he had attacked the taller man in his fits of rage. The familiar feeling of weighing guilt began to mount in him.

“I am currently on my third round of antibiotics and have been having my wounds treated on a regular basis with prescription salves and medications to keep the worst of it in check. They really aren’t as bad as they were.” With a swirl he turned around and faced the smaller man. John could read the anxiety that was written all over Sherlock’s face, most would never see it, but he knew Sherlock well enough and had been in enough arguments with the man to know that he was truly afraid standing here together.

Standing there staring at each other the words he had been rehearsing all the way to 221B disappeared in his throat as he stared into those haunting eyes. Those eyes that were full of hurt, guilt, sadness, and something else. It took all the fight out of John, he didn’t want to shout and yell any longer. He didn’t want to tell Sherlock what a twat he was. In that moment he wanted things to go back to the way they were before the fall. Before he had ruined things with Greg. Before he had fallen into the habits that he despised. He wanted to take the taller man in his arms and hold him tightly to him. To help him to know that he would never cut him out of his life, how he thought he could he didn’t know. Even if he couldn’t love him in the same way he did before, he could never be rid of him for good.

“Where are your medications? I would like to take a look at them and inspect your back if you don’t mind.” He kept his voice gentle and calm as he would dealing with any other timid patient. He could see the whoosh of breath leave Sherlock at the tone he was using.

“They are on the tray next to the sofa. I had the salves administered about 10 minutes ago, but you are welcome to look at the medications and inspect my wounds if you prefer. I have had Mycroft’s personal physician here once every three days since he brought me back from Serbia.”

Walking to the tray of various pill bottles and antibiotic salves in jars. All were extremely high strength, except for the pain medication. In the way of pain medication there was nothing stronger than paracetamol. No doubt due to Sherlock’s past drug addiction. Picking up the antibiotic salve he walked to the kitchen and pulled out one of the dining chairs and turned it to sit in the middle of the room. “Have a seat here and I’ll take a look at the ones that are looking particularly angry.”

Sherlock silently sat down reverse in the chair so that his back was facing outwards.

“Do you happen to have any non-stick bandages wrapping as well?”

“It’s on the small table over there.”

Carefully John brought the bandages and the salve to stand behind the taller man as he sat and began to work. He could feel Sherlock stiffen under his touch and it felt like a knife to his heart. He was sure that it had nothing to do with the fact that it was him touching Sherlock, but no doubt the trauma of being tortured for months on end without treatment. He inspected the particularly enflamed wound and very gently applied the cool gel to the area and continued to treat each one that looked like it was a risk for infection or further opening. When he was finished he instructed the taller man to stand as he carefully wrapped the bandaging around his back and chest. As he did so he could feel the ribs that had been broken and were still healing, and some that had not healed properly in the time before. The room was silent as he worked. The moment he tucked the end of the bandage into the wraps he swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as the guilt began to fill him.

“I had no idea you were hurt this badly. I should not have lost my temper and attacked you. I shouldn’t have laid a finger on you. I would have…”

“Enough of that now.” Sherlock cut him off swiftly as he turned around. “You, nor anyone else apart from the physician and Mycroft knew the extent of my injuries that night when I came to surprise you. Mycroft even tried to warn me about my presence not being wanted. He warned me. The physician warned me about the dangers of my going out with fresh wounds on my body. But I did not listen. Any further injury I sustained was of my own accord and no one else’s. I cannot expect others to take the responsibility and punishment for my own actions. I know that now after everything. So I will not hear one apology for any pain I experienced that night. Not one.” His tone was fierce and determined as he spoke.

All John could do was clamp his mouth shut to keep the guilt filled apologies falling from his lips. Sherlock gave him a firm nod before continuing.

“Now I take it you are here to tell me that you want me to stay away from you and your soon to be wife.”


	18. Oh Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh love, oh love  
> Won't you rain on me tonight?  
> Oh life, oh life  
> Please don't pass me by  
> Don't stop, don't stop  
> Don't stop when the red lights flash  
> Oh ride, free ride  
> Won't you take me close to you  
> Far away, far away  
> Waste away tonight  
> I'm wearing my heart on a noose  
> Far away, far away  
> Waste away tonight  
> Tonight my heart's on the loose  
> Oh lights and action  
> I just can't be satisfied  
> Oh losers and choosers  
> Won't you please hold on my life  
> Oh hours and hours  
> Like the dog years of the day  
> Old story, same old story  
> Won't you see the light of day"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the year long hiatus. I have been working myself to death in a job that I hated and quite literally beat the happiness out of me everyday, which left no room for happiness and pasttimes. 
> 
> BUT I just got a promotion and a raise and a better schedule that is going to give me my weekends back. I also graduated and got my degree in the last year so I wont be bogged down with homework either.
> 
> AND I have two weeks off of work for my kids spring break which should give me plenty of writing time....
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways....I hope you enjoy this short little snippet as a preface of the great writing to come in the next three weeks. To those who have still stuck with me all this way I adore you and you are often my motivating force!

Greg sat in front of his little folding table he had setup beside the sofa, writing notes on blank composing paper and his cello resting between his thighs while he clutched it in his other hand. He had been working with Sherlock on composing a waltz for John and Mary’s wedding. Sherlock had told him all about how John had come to the flat with the intention of cutting him out of his life entirely. They were still adjusting to Sherlock being back after his staged death and the ramifications that it caused after the fact.   
  
Of course Sherlock had guessed that John was going to ask him to leave him alone so he could be with his new fiance without the looming fear of being sucked back into the dangerous lifestyle, though they all knew he would anyways; the man loved danger. Greg had still chosen to keep his distance from the good doctor since Sherlock’s return. There were wounds that were still too fresh and were on their way to being mended.   
  
Greg had been working with a therapist that Mycroft had selected for him after she had been through the older Holme’s vetting process. They had made quite a bit of progress and playing his cello was therapeutic as well. He had also taken to listening to a particular artist’s spoken word poetry on days that were particularly difficult to get through. Therapy had become particularly helpful as well when the weight of his job at the yard would become too much. They had covered quite a bit; they had covered his divorce and relationship with Monica, They had discussed his work at the met and they had covered his relationships with Sherlock and John.   
  
Those sessions had been quite difficult. He was still learning to rewire his brain to remind himself that, No he was not the cause of Sherlock’s staged suicide and no he had not been responsible for the actions of John either. He still struggled with the fear and sadness that would overtake him when he would hear John’s footsteps on the stairs up to 221B, but would stop and allow himself to feel the harsh feelings and let them overtake the before going forward. This was something that he had been working with his therapist as well. Allowing himself to feel the discomfort and sadness in his life instead of denying that it exists.    
  
The DI set his pencil down on the folding table and gently put his cello away into its case and placed it back in the hallway closet where he had kept it hidden since Mycroft had originally placed it there, before making his way to the bedroom where he stripped off his layers of clothes that smelled of sweat and his panda car. Once his head hit the pillow he placed his earbuds in and listened to the  [ calming voice ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7OGY1Jxp3o) of the man on the other end.    
  
_ “There will be bad days…. Be calm….loosen your grip, opening each palm slowly now….let go.” _

 

*****

 

Sherlock shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. It was almost midnight and he was sure that Greg was asleep, the DI rarely stayed up to wait for him any longer. The consulting detective could tell that it was still a difficulty for him to be near John, or even interact with him. He also knew that Greg was making spectacular progress with the therapist that Mycroft had arranged. His fat brother was probably recording all of the sessions for himself to analyze, but Greg didn't seem too concerned about it when Sherlock brought it up. He would just shake his head and tell him how mad he was. Sherlock walked quietly back down the stairs towards 221C to check on his DI even though he knew he was probably asleep.   
  
He entered the silent flat and walked over the the sheets of music that he and his silver fox had been working on for John and read over the notes and heard them clearly in his mind. It was coming along nicely. He had been surprised when Greg had suggested that they compose something for John. He had explained that he felt it was only right for them to compose one last piece of music together to share with him as he went off on his new life with Mary.    
  
Mary….Sherlock was still not ok with the woman. There was something that she was hiding. She was incredibly charming and charismatic. But she showed signs of lying quite often to both John and himself. He was thinking of having Mycroft look into her, but knew that John would not react kindly to if he ever found out. Something along the lines of not trusting his judgement. He had managed to keep his interactions with the good doctor ever professional so he would not be able to come to him one day saying that his approach to their relationship was inappropriate.    
  
The raven haired man toed off his shoes and made his way to the bedroom of 221C to find his love laying with his mouth hanging open slightly and the soft sounds of his breathing filling the air. The headphones were sticking out from under his pillow which led to his phone where a familiar site of a spoken word poem audio that had ended.  _ It must have been a trying day at the yard as well as composing.  _ Gently the taller man eased himself onto the bed to hold the elder in his arms. Greg shifted slightly to accommodate the lanky one without waking up at all before easing himself into the embrace.   
  
*****

 

“I am coming by tomorrow.”   
  
Alexi walked into the living room away from her sleeping husband to speak in hushed tones to the man on the other end. 

 

“You do realize that you will blow my cover.”   
  
The man scoffed. “From what you have told me your  _ fiance  _ has been spending quite a bit of his time with his old flame. I have an update to give you and a little something else to give you….”   
  
Alexi rolled her eyes at Seb’s attempts to be salacious. “I will text you and let you know when he is off with Sherlock. You had better have a good report for me or you will receive nothing but my wrath. We have to end this nonsense, as soon as John decides to leave with Sherlock, that is when we will strike. We have to make sure that nosey git suffers while watching his  _ love  _ suffer at the hands of my knives and guns.”   
  
“Well then my love, until tomorrow. I have plenty of news to share. 

 

Alexi ended the call without another word and erased all traces of the call on her phone. She would need to get a burner just to avoid being caught by John on something as simple as a telephone bill. Soon she would have her revenge on the consulting detective that had robbed her of her resources and funds as well as his absurd older brother. And, if things went as planned she and Seb would be on their way to their next location and possibly their next job. She had forgotten how much she loved the game. She slipped herself into the bed beside her  _ fiance _ before letting herself doze off herself. She did have to be at the clinic tomorrow after all. 


	19. Let's Hurt Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When,when we came home  
> Worn to the bones  
> I told myself, "this could get rough"  
> And when, when I was off, which happened a lot  
> You came to me and said, "that's enough"  
> Oh I know that this love is pain  
> But we can't cut it from out these veins, no  
> So I'll hit the lights and you lock the doors  
> We ain't leaving this room 'til we bust the mold  
> Don't walk away, don't roll your eyes  
> They say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight  
> When,when you came home  
> Worn to the bones  
> I told myself, "this could be rough"  
> Oh, I know you're feeling insane  
> Tell me something that I can explain, oh  
> I'll hit the lights and you lock the doors  
> Tell me all of the things that you couldn't before  
> Don't walk away,don't roll your eyes  
> They say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight  
> If this love is pain, well darling, let's hurt, oh tonight  
> So you hit the lights and I'll lock the doors  
> Let's say all of the things that we couldn't before  
> Won't walk away, won't roll my eyes  
> They say love is pain, well darling,let's hurt tonight  
> If this love is pain, then honey let's love tonight"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there hasn't been as many updates in the last weeks as I had hoped. Still trying to get my comfort-ability in writing again. Its hard getting back on the horse when you don't even know how many spectators care that you are there. LOL. Not sure if that makes sense, but anyways, enjoy the next part of our story. Please don't hesitate to comment on your thoughts of the progression of the story and what you think of the development and progress of the characters. 
> 
> I live for your comments. You are amazing. Thanks for sticking with me.

“Why do you NEVER call the police?!?!” John could barely hear over the ringing panic in his ears that he was trying to get under control as he stared down at Sherlock looking helpless over the bomb’s timer that was still counting down to detonation. It had been quite a long time since he had seen that fear in Sherlock’s eyes. The fear of not knowing the solution, knowing that this was going to be their last moments. Like when they were by the swimming pool with their first meeting of Moriarty. When he was strapped with explosives waiting to die. When he was ready to die. To die for Sherlock. Now here he is, his life ready to begin with Mary and it is about to end in one foul swoop of a job with this git.   
  
He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not realized that Sherlock was looking up at him with tears in his eyes. “I am sorry.” His deep rumbling voice was quiet but clear. “I am sorry for all the hurt I have caused you in this life. I am sorry for leaving you thinking you were all alone in this world without the support you needed.” The words started to sting in his heart as he listened. He had been left with adequate support. He had only pushed it as far away from him as he could. John went to open his mouth to respond, but was cut off by this gorgeous man before him. “If it hadnt been for me, you wouldn't be here with me now. You would bet at home with Mary getting ready to finally propose. You would have had a life without me free to be what you truly want. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

He had not been expecting that, that was for sure. He couldn't figure out which hurt worse, the way that Sherlock was apologizing, and begging for forgiveness here at the end of all this; or his acknowledgment of John’s moving on with Mary and moving his life away from Sherlock. Away from the shame of his actions of the past.

“When you died, I went to your grave and I asked for one thing. Just one thing.”  
  
“I know”   
  
“All I wanted more than anything in the world was for you to come back to me. Come back to our lives. To fix what was shattered and unable to put back together….”John had to swallow over the lump of guilt and sadness in his throat. “....I find these things difficult. You are the most brilliant and amazing man I have ever known, and of course I forgive you.” John closed his eyes and readied for the explosion, thinking of Mary and how she would get on without her…..thinking of Greg and the last time he saw him years ago….. 

The sound of heavy laden footsteps snapped his eyes open and he was staring down at Sherlock who was smirking at him as the bomb squad came running up and immediately drilling the taller man with question who seamlessly responded to each in kind. “There are charges running all the way up the channel there. I have switched off the detonation switch but the timer was still connected. Probably to deter others from trying to deactivate the device. Be very careful. The entire car is charged.

“Oi! Sherlock!” John’s heart froze in his chest as he heard the voice of the man he had treated so incredibly poorly. Whom he had abused and treated with such disdain. The person who stepped up to the train car with his hands on his hips being ever the Detective Inspector that he was. His hair was cropped much shorter and closer to his head than he had ever had it in the past. He was much thinner as well. His suit hanging off him. “Appreciate the call to have us come down here. But you and Doctor Watson need to be checked out by the paramedics to make sure that you are not in shock or anything of the sort. And no arguments from you John. We know you are a doctor, but protocol is protocol.” The way the DI shot him a kind smile cut right into his heart. How could this man be so kind and nonchalant about their interactions when all he deserved was cruelness and a cold shoulder for the way he behaved.  
  
Sherlock laughed and hopped down off the car and onto the tracks where Greg held out his hand to point at the medics at the end of the tunnel that were making their way down to them. John didn't get a chance to open his mouth before Greg was instructing his men on what was to be happening next in their proceedings. The doctor could only stand and watch with adoration and confusion as the man who was so broken before stood there and took charge of the situation doing what he did best. Protect and Serving the public.

“John you coming?” Sherlock’s voice finally drew himself back to where Sherlock stood being poked and prodded at by the medics while having a rather annoyed look on his face that let a little giggle emerge from the good doctor. It had been so long since they had been together like this. Solving crimes, the adrenaline, Greg….all that was missing was a trip back to 221B and it would be just like old times……

*******

 

A: Were you behind this distraction that Sherlock and John are chasing after?  
  
S: ;)

A: Did you just use an emoji to respond to my question? Because as far as I am concerned this was an unnecessary risk that you are taking to undermine my plan.  
  
S: I figured I could have a little fun and be rid of those sods once and for all.   
  
A: That has never been the plan you twat.   
  
A: The plan was to make sure they were as devoted to each other as they could be. This is why you took John and put him in the bonfire, to be sure that we could take them both out and make a point at the same time.

A: You are such an idiot. I have no idea why I don’t just turn you into that absurd Mycroft character myself.

S: Come now don't be like that.

S: I am sick of waiting for you to keep playing this cat n mouse game.

S: This is what drove me crazy about working for James in the first place. These fucking mind games.   
  
A: NO MORE IMPROVISING!!! 

A: That is how mistakes are made and people are found out. So just stop it now.

A: I will contact you through the necessary channels after I discard of this burner phone. Wait for further instructions.

S: Wait!  
  
A: WHAT?!?!   
  
S: I love it when you’re angry.   
  
A: Fuck right off you fool.   
  
A: ;)

************

Greg toed off his shoes and leaned against the door of 221C as he took a deep breath in. It had been really difficult at first seeing John at the crime scene. But he just practiced his breathing and self mantras that his therapist had taught him to help him combat the anxiety that he felt on a daily basis doing his job. It made it all the more bearable to be there. It was nice seeing the good doctor again and less painful than he had anticipated. John definitely looked much healthier as well...this Mary must be so good for him.

The DI shrugged off his coat and pulled off his shirt before settling down on the couch after flipping on his old records. He silently traced the letters that were tattooed on his chest. A relic of the love that all of them shared before everything fell apart. He had been considering bringing up to Sherlock his desire to get more ink done. A little something to remind himself of the trials that he has gone through and how capable he was at surviving his this terrible world. He had thought about bringing it up to Molly the last time he was at St. Barts since she would be honest with him without being brutally honest with him. The pathologist had laughed loudly when he had expressed this fear out loud.

Molly had been such a godsend in the last few months since Sherlock got back. She had managed to be around himself and Sherlock without it being awkward and weird. She smiled at him more often now that their consulting detective was back. Sherlock had informed him that she had had a part in assisting in the faked suicide which explained quite a bit about how close of an eye she had kept on him. But he was so very grateful to her for it.

He had thought about the night he had gone drunkenly up to the roof of the hospital. He closed his eyes as he remembered what he could and talked himself through the event like he would with his therapist. He knew that that was the beginning of his path to healing. As badly as it had hurt to be there and to feel those feelings at the time, it was the jumping off point. Molly had saved him. Mycroft had saved him and he was now in a place where he could be a help to those around him.

_“What is important is to not hide from your feelings. When they come do not squash them down and ignore them. Do not diminish their magnitude and importance in your life. Do not dismiss your struggles as ‘Someone has had it worse than myself’. Feel it. Let the feelings overtake you._ **_Feel_ ** _them. Let them wash over you so that once the feelings and terror and sadness have passed you can tell yourself, I felt this. It is real. I am important. Sometime healing hurts. That is why we are here. To allow you to feel, hurt and heal. Now….lets begin…”_

She was always right, which is probably why Mycroft chose her. There was no hiding from her and he was sure she was some sort of MI6 agent that was trained for debriefing agents in the field, he had wondered a time or two if she was someone Sherlock had talked to after his return….

...It was time for him to move forward in confidence and life. The past did hurt, but pain leads to healing and strength and he was where he needed to be. To support Sherlock and more importantly to support John. That was something that he and his therapist had discussed as well, the final conclusion and forgiveness of John to allow them all to move forward and have happy lives. Even if he was not allowed to love the good doctor in the way he had in the past, he would take a secret love in his heart and an outward friendship to move forward and progress in this life.

 

******

“Well John, I bid you goodnight.” Sherlock flashed an easy smile at the good doctor. It had been quite the evening. He had observed the tension in both men when Greg stepped foot into that tunnel and revealed himself to John for the first time in God knew how long. It was progress. Definite progress and he had the opportunity to allow John to say his true feelings and in a way sort of tricked him into forgiving him...at least he hoped it was still available after fooling him into thinking that the bomb was going to detonate. “Give my regards to Mary! Thank you for your assistance, as ever you are irreplaceable.”  
  
Turning on his heels to head back to Baker Street he was stopped by John’s quiet voice.

“I meant what I said?”  
  
The long raven haired man turned as gracefully as ever to see John standing there staring at his back. “I beg your pardon?”   
  
“I meant what I said back there on the tube car. I do forgive you. It took me quite a while to come to terms with the lies and deceit. But I have had plenty of time to think about it all since you came back. I do forgive you you bloody idiot. I wanted you to be alive so badly, now that you are here standing in my life it would be foolish and selfish to say I don't forgive you. Besides, we both know it would be a lie if I told you I would never forgive you.”   
  
Sherlock bowed his head in acknowledgement of John’s words and smiled a deep genuine smile at the man, Though this was no _lets run away together and leave Mary behind and all live happily ever after._ But it was definitely a start to good progress.

“Even if you are a cock.” John shot quickly after Sherlock’s grin, which triggered a rumbling laughter to erupt from the consulting detective, and earning a blonde head popping out of the front door to smile at them both. _Mary._

“Anyways, as I was saying to your dear beloved Miss Mary, I bid you both goodnight. I haven't slept in about a week. John, I will let you know when our next case comes up.”


	20. Backhanded Love Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update just to get my commitments down for moving forward in this direction in the story. XD 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have stuck around and still read and comment. <3<3<3

Sherlock studied the sample of mold under his microscope from the experiment that he had been working on during his free time to try and get his mind off of all the wedding plans for John and Mary’s wedding. They had been spending quite a bit of time together, the three of them. He took the time to find the things that would suit the wedding best, and secretly that he would have picked for himself and John if things were different. He had been to see Molly that morning with his plan for the evening of the Good Doctors bachelor party. It was all planned out and would leave no doubt in John’s mind how he still felt about him. It was the only way he would get John relaxed enough to perhaps talk about what they had been dancing around since his return.   
  
His gaze was drawn away from the sample to the thundering footsteps coming up the stairs. It wasn’t John…..not Mycroft…...certainly not Mrs. Hudson…..   
  
The Detective Inspector burst in the door and stood in the middle of the sitting room with the picture of Vitruvian Man with John’s head pasted on it. It was the first time since his return that the consulting detective had seen the older man set foot in the flat. There he stood with the page clenched in his fist and his face red.   
  
“What are you playing at?!?” The older man’s voice was quiet and filled with restrained anger.   
  
“What are you talking about Greg?” Sherlock was not sure why Greg was so upset, he didn’t tell Molly the more personal agenda of trying to win John back, just that they were planning on going drinking at all the crime scenes they worked together as a send off to married life.   
  
The consulting detective could see the vein in Lestrade’s forehead was starting to bulge as he stood there planted in the middle of the carpet. “I am talking about planning an entire night taking a man who is known to have a problem with alcohol to drink himself into oblivion by my calculations!”

 

Sherlock felt a twang of guilt in his chest as he listened to Greg talk. He had no thought considered in the slightest that the D.I. would have an issue with them going drinking as John had been seen drinking a glass of wine or champagne here or there. When he finally saw his hands were shaking as they clutched the paper in them and the wetness gathering in his dear one’s eyes. He had been so determined to win John back to get things back to the way they were before he left to dismantle Moriarty.    
  
“I am truly sorry Greg. I had no thought about that factor.”

 

“Slipped your mind did it?” Greg shot back.   
  
“I just…”  _ honesty is the best policy right? He asked for no more lies and secrets _ … “I was hoping that I would have the opportunity for him to let his guard down enough for me to talk to him and try and win him back for us so we can try and all start to heal…”

  
“WHO SAID I WANT TO WIN HIM BACK?!?!??!” The older man’s voice thundered through the room, leaving Sherlock silent. He had never even considered that Greg might not want to try and patch things up with Greg. Their interactions at crimes scenes as of late were friendly, and the D.I. hadn't seemed to be having any PTSD moments around the Doctor. He watched as the older man drew a breath in his nose harshly looking down at the ground. “You still don’t think of anyone else.” The words were quiet and filled with disappointment and it was like a stab to the gut. He had thought they had all been making progress, he just didn’t want to rush him into plotting in case things went sour. “It’s just about the endgame that affects you specifically. I will have no part of this.” Greg let the paper fall from his hand and landed gently on the floor below him before stomping down the stairs and out the front of 221 slamming the door behind him.   
  
Sherlock sat down on his stool in the kitchen staring down at the paper where the Detective Inspector had just been standing previously.  _ I have to find a way to fix this. _

**Author's Note:**

> I have had a very very difficult last 6-9 months. I am using this fic to purge myself of the hurt and struggles I have had to endure during that time. So this fic will be filled with many feelings and thoughts I have had. So it will be quite difficult and sad for me. But I need this.


End file.
